


Ne Me Quitte Pas

by dontyoudarestiles, MadTheLine



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Beau and Jacob are bros, Beau is a daddy's boy, Beau is hella gay, Bullying, Charlie is overprotective, Charlie loves his son, Claustrophobia, Edward is Crushing Harder than a 12-year old Girl, Genderbending, Homophobia, Jacob is hella straight, M/M, Male!Bella, Non-Sexual Assault, Panic Attacks, Romance, Slow Burn, but beware, even if he doesn't know it yet, it's not as bad as it sounds, no love triangles, slightly cracky, teen drama, teenage boys being assholes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontyoudarestiles/pseuds/dontyoudarestiles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadTheLine/pseuds/MadTheLine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beau just wanted to lay-low while living with his father in Forks. Getting involved with Edward Cullen didn't really give him that option. Was Beau complaining? Hell no. </p><p>IMPORTANT: This story was started before Life and Death: Twilight Re-Imagined was announced. It is not a fanfiction of Life and Death, Beau is our own original character. </p><p>featuring Male!Bella, SexuallyConfused!Edward, and bestfriend!Jacob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sous le Ciel de Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ne Me Quitte Pas can also be found on fanfiction.net  
> Ok, so this is Beau's story. Beau is our OC/Male version of Bella. He is based on Bella, but he isn't exactly like her, and neither is this story exactly a retelling of Twilight. There will be aspects of it that will change drastically, and a lot of it will focus on both Beau's struggles, unique of Bella's in canon, and will draw aspects from Midnight Sun and Edward's backstory. Some of it will be cracky, some of it will be deep. Either way, we hope you enjoy the ride.
> 
> As of now, this story will update weekly to bi-weekly.

Forks, Washington.

It was not like he expected to be. He remembered it vaguely from the years he lived in Forks as a kid-twiggy and small and perpetually scowling. And the summers after the divorce had always been muggy and hot and way too sticky. Now it was just cold, the water like ice on his skin. But it was still bright green. The lawns, the trees, the moss, the plants and the fat leaves, they were all bright green.

His dad was driving the car, an old police cruiser that had seen its glory days back in the 80s. The seats were still soft though, and Beau smiled, nostalgic. When he was a kid, Forks had always seemed so much bigger. Like, it had been his entire world. Now, it was just like revisiting a memory long gone.

He slipped out of the car when they pulled up in front of the house, shouldering his bag and blinking as the rain misted his glasses. His dad—a well aged man in his forties with thinning curls—knuckled his shoulder awkwardly.

Charlie was a cool dad, even if he was a bit distant. That wasn't his fault—if anything, Beau should've tried harder to stay in touch, but he'd only been eleven when Charlie and his mother had divorced. In typical pre-teenage fashion, he'd latched onto resentment like it was going out of style and refused to talk to either of his parents for a good two months. By that time, it was decided he would go live with his mom, a thousand miles away in Phoenix, Arizona.

It'd seemed like Charlie hadn't fought as hard as he could've to keep him, and in his eleven year old mind and as a kid, he'd been pretty pissed off about that. Before he knew it, he'd pushed his father away, and hadn't known how to fix it. He let things lay like that for God knows how long. It might've continued, if his mother hadn't remarried a cool dude who played for a minor league baseball team a couple months after he turned sixteen.

He'd been such a brat when he was a kid. Beau had admitted that to himself a lot and he did want to repair his relationship with his dad. This was a good first step.

Presently, Beau glanced at the bulky orange-red Chevy parked in the drive way of the old house and looked at his father quizzically.

"You like it?" Charlie Swan asked, tentative. "Had Billy Black's boy fix it up just for you. I know it's a little bulky—"

Beau's eyes went huge. "Wait—seriously? It's mine?" He ran over and crushed his dad into a bear hug-or what would've been a bear hug if he had any muscle mass (he'd tried. Nothing worked). "Dad, that's amazing! I love it, it's perfect!"

Charlie swallowed and returned the hug, which was the first in a long time, Beau remembered. "Glad you like it so much. I just wanted to make you feel a bit more at home."

"It's great," Beau said firmly, pulling back and readjusting his glasses with his pinky finger. "Can't wait to drive it to school." He walked over to the machine and traced a slim finger across the hood. The paint was new, even if the model wasn't. He'd never been any good with cars, anyway. He knew how to drive one, that was the point. He'd always been more of a video game fanatic than a car enthusiast, to be honest.

Walking through the house was like walking through a museum someone had stubbornly kept the same for half a decade. The pictures were all the same on the mantle in the living room, if a bit dusty. The furniture was faded and the same yellow paint adorned the cabinets that his mother had loved. A well of guilt stemmed in his stomach as Beau looked around and realized that Charlie had done everything in his power to keep it as it had been five years ago—as if it was a shrine to the life he had shared with his wife and his son.

"What do you want for dinner?" he blurted before he could say something stupidly sentimental like "Missed you so much" or "I wish I could've visited more often". That would've sounded too much like pity for his father to swallow and Beau did not want to start off on the wrong foot.

Charlie startled. "You can cook?"

Beau shrugged. "Mom sure as hell can't, so it was either learn or starve to death. I had to wait two years until she would let me near the stove." He smirked. "By then, I was almost anorexic."

"You poor thing," Charlie said dryly. "I don't know how you survived on pizza and frozen fish sticks all that time."

Beau sighed, mock-suffering, bringing a limp wrist to his forehead. "Oh, you have no idea how many Chinese takeout cartons I had to wallow through. Mom was never meant to be a housewife. Her lasagna was more like rocks coated in ketchup." He shuddered.

"Gross," Charlie humored. "Well, there's not much to make here. I didn't have time to stock the kitchen. How about we order takeout tonight and I let you sleep off the jet-lag?"

Beau smiled. "Thanks, Dad." He turned to climb the stairs to his old bedroom, but before he reached the landing, he twisted around and held up a finger imperiously. "But tomorrow, I'm totally making tortellini with veggies and cheese." He winked and disappeared into his room, yelling behind him "And no complaints!"

He closed the door on his father's hearty laughter.

...

His room looked almost exactly the way he had left it. There was a dinosaur of a computer on a baby blue desk that inexplicably matched the walls and the coverlet of a full sized bed that he remembered dwarfing his eleven year old self. He had shot up in recent years, though, so now the bed was the perfect size for a 5'5", skinny little Beau.

That was somewhat depressing, if he thought about it too hard.

Beau didn't have a problem with his height, but sometimes it irritated him, having to crane his neck to look up at most of the guys in his grade.

Beau was a stick of a guy, with slim limbs, pale skin and dark eyes, obscured by his rather large, albeit somewhat stylish glasses. His hair was messy, brown and needed a haircut. His cheeks were a bit hollow. Everyone was constantly telling him he needed to eat more. What they didn't know was that his stomach was a bottomless pit that devoured anything degradable within reach.

Presently, he pushed his glasses up with his pinky (old habit) and lay down to regain the hours he had lost on the plane.

He closed his eyes. Unpacking could wait.

...

It was the first day of school.

He could do this, he thought to himself as he rearranged his bedroom for what felt like the thousandth time in the same morning.

He was going to die, he thought to himself as he shoved pencils and ballpoints into his backpack.

As promised, Beau had done most of the cooking the past two days as he'd gotten settled in and even though Charlie had showered him with praise for the meals (which he appreciated), he mostly did it because of a combination of anxiety and a lack of anything else productive to do. He had emailed and chatted with one of his closer friends from Arizona as well as checked in with his harebrained mother who was traveling the country with newly acquired husband, Phil. He was an alright dude, if a little awkward around Beau. It was alright. Beau knew he could be a little intimidating to his mother's suitors. (Haha. Not. He was 134 pounds wet, he couldn't intimidate a bunny).

Or maybe, it was because he was a teenager and all adult men had an instinctual fear of the thing that would eventually replace them.

He swallowed, wolfed down breakfast and stressed over what to wear for an hour before deciding on the plain t-shirt and skinny jeans he had pulled out in the beginning. He smacked a kiss to Charlie's grizzled cheek, said "Pray for me, please," and bolted out the door to his awesome new truck. As he drove down the streets of Forks, he decided to name her Jean Grey after the X-Men member, as a reference to both the truck's coloring and the name of his hometown: Phoenix.

He liked to think he was cool like that.

The school was a small campus on a stretch of land consisting of wet, dull grass and tiny brick structures that made up the institute. There were a bunch of what looked like little houses scattered around, numbered and each containing a classroom. The main building was 101, where most of the lockers and offices were located, so he headed there first to get his schedule.

He shifted in on himself as he felt eyes gawking at him as he parked, and when he slid out of the car, there was a ripple of whispers following him as he entered the school. He winced. Great. He hated gossip.

He felt like a bug under a microscope, girls and boys of all ages staring at him curiously, eagerly, interested like he was some rare type of plant. Well, he thought, he was never one to be psyched out by a little staring. He held his head high and walked purposefully towards the main building, his messenger bag bouncing against his hip.

The woman at the front desk was friendly as she went over his schedule with him, and handed him a map of the campus. He thanked her and headed off to his first class-Trigonometry, Building 107-and ducked his head as he walked outside again, feeling eyes on him as he opened up the map and squinted through his wet lenses.

"Yo, new boy!"

Beau internally groaned. This was it. The summary of his existence at Forks High in one sentence. The new boy. It was about to begin—his torturous assimilation into the social hierarchy of a new school, of a new world. Basically.

The boy addressing him was a slim Asian-American boy with floppy hair and high cheekbones. Beau had to admit, his glasses were cool.

"Need any help?" The boy's smile was cheeky.

"Uh," said Beau eloquently. "No? I don't think so—"

"Trust me," the boy said, which inexplicably made Beau suspicious of his trustworthiness. "I know it looks easy, but this place is a maze." He stuck out his hand, which was large and bulky compared to his skinny wrist. That meant he was gonna grow, Beau grumbled to himself enviously as he shook it. "I'm Eric. And you're Charlie Swan's kid, right? Beauregard?"

Beau hummed an affirmative. "Charlie's kid, yes. Beauregard, hell no. I'm Beau."

Eric blinked, confused. "As in... 'boo'? Like, a ghost?"

"No," Beau said dryly. "Beau as in, 'hey beau!' Like, sweetie or honey. My mom's weird, don't give me that look."

"Sorry," Eric snickered. "You're name is basically 'baby'. Or, like, sweetiepie. Or sugarnups."

"Ohmygod," said Beau. "I don't know you. Get away from me." But he was laughing, so Eric only slung an arm around his shoulder and frog-marched him across campus.

"You and me, we're gonna go far, kid," Eric said.

"I can hear the '80s montage music," Beau muttered to himself, wondering how traumatized he could get on the first day.

...

Eric, despite all appearances otherwise, actually proved to be useful in certain fields. Like, finding the cafeteria for example or introducing him to his group of friends, which included two girls—Angela and Jessica—and two other guys, Mike and Tyler. Angela, a mousy, bookish girl with horn-rimmed glasses, Jessica, a sharp-tongued blonde, Mike, a jock with biceps and a horrible fashion sense and Tyler, a black boy with a deep-seated interest for art. They all tried to call him Beauregard as soon as they met him, but he straightened them out as soon as he could. No way was he being known as Beauregard for his entire high school career. No way.

They were all pretty chill people, except for Jessica, who seemed a little high-strung, with no explanation other than the fact that junior prom was coming up in the Spring and everyone was freaking out.

"So," said Jessica furtively as Beau sat down with a completely health conscientious lunch consisting of pizza, garlic-and-salt-covered broccoli and low fat (read: high sugar) chocolate milk. "You're probably wondering about the Cullens."

Beau blinked at her. "Who?" he asked, nervous all of a sudden.

"Oh, God," said Mike. "Not them again."

"What," Beau exhaled, confused.

" _The Cullens_ ," Jessica emphasized. Beau could hear her italicizing every syllable. It was weird. "They're, like, the coolest people in school."

Eric choked on his milk.

"What are we, in a John Hughes movie?" Mike griped. "They're just Dr. Cullen's kids—adopted, anyways, but no one cares about that."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Jessica just likes gossiping. And they're not the coolest kids in school. Justthemostbeautiful," she muttered quickly into her salad.

"What," said Beau.

"Behind you," Jessica whispered.

"Why the hell are you whispering, they're freaking halfway across the cafeteria," Tyler said.

"Shut up, Tyler," Jessica growled, but Beau wasn't paying attention as he was already twisting around to glance at the table Eric was not-so-subtly-gesturing to with his straw.

Sitting in variously artful poses one would find in Vogue magazine, were some of the most freakishly beautiful people Beau had ever seen in his pitiful lifetime. He could feel the flush climbing up his cheekbones and shook his head. Was... was it normal for someone to be that dazzling?

They were all pale, pale with perfectly arched eyebrows that looked plucked but weren't, gleaming hair that varied from pitch black to amazingly beach blond, their features chiseled like some sort of statue Michelangelo would've wept for. Forget Michelangelo, Beau dismissed as soon as he thought it as his eyes settled on the bronze-haired man-candy brooding in the corner. Freaking angels, man. Fucking Adonis.

"What," echoed Beau, again.

"What," mimicked Jessica. "Is that all you can say?"

"No," Beau frowned. "I'm just... kind of starstruck, actually, and I don't even... know who they are? Should I be swooning or something?"

Angela giggled.

Beau whistled lowly. "Can I say man-candy?"

Everybody at the table froze. It was like in an X-Men movie, when Charles Xavier froze time and space and everything stopped moving in one moment.

Maybe I am in an X-Men movie, Beau mused. And the Cullens in the corner are mutants with the power of super beauty. And I'm a mutant with the power of embarrassing myself.

For some reason, the pixie beauty in the corner fell onto the floor, laughing. The bronze boy in the corner looked scandalized, while the tall boy with probably steroid-induced muscles preened and flexed his arms. The blondes stared at each other like some sort of weird ritual, stone faced.

Beau dismissed it.

For some reason, Jessica bull-dozed over his accidental outing of himself and said "YES BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT."

Angela blinked.

Eric turned to Beau, eyes wide, and said "Wait, are you ga—"

"They're all together," Jessica said viciously, voice loud enough to run over Eric's vital question.

"Um," said Beau, not sure whether or not he was supposed to respond to Eric. "I kinda guessed that, seeing as they're all sitting together...?"

"Ohmygawd, you're so oblivious," Jessica exhaled in one breath. "They're all dating. Each other. Rosalie, the blond girl, is with Emmett, the muscly one, and Alice, the tiny girl, is with Jasper, the one who looks like he's in pain. Edward, the pretty one with the brown hair, well, he's not dating anyone. I guess no one here's good enough for him." Her voice was dark and she stabbed a carrot with her fork.

"Someone sounds bitter," Tyler said slyly and got hit in the head with a garlic roll.

At this point, Jessica decided it would be more strategic to turn the conversation back to the elephant in the room. "SO YOU'RE GAY THEN?"

Beau blinked. "Are... we not talking about the Cullens anymore?"

Somewhere, behind them, Emmett toppled over, mouth open and clapping like a seal.

"What the fuck is wrong with the Cullens today?" Tyler asked slowly.

Alice beat the ground with her fist.

...

"So."

"I am a homosexual, _leavemealone_ ," said Beau desperately as he shuffled his way around the senior boy approaching him. The guy raised an eyebrow. He was the thirtieth person to come up to him that day, asking whether or not he was gay.

"Bad day?" he asked.

"No fucking idea," Beau said flatly and entered his science class.

The fan blasted him in the face. What the hell. It was freaking winter. What sadomasochistic bastard put on a fan in Forks, during March? His hair flew up around him and he spat a strand out that was on his tongue. Gross. He looked around. Mike was in the second row, grinning, Angela was in the back, freaking Edward Cullen looked like he was about to puke...

Someone get Cullen a bucket, he thought. The teacher directed him into the empty seat next to said Cullen and Beau shrugged, half-reluctantly. He wasn't quite in the mood for being puked on, but he still appreciated more time to ogle that jaw line.

Heh heh. He was a bad person.

He opened his book to the designated page, glanced at Cullen... and started, because the guy was glaring at him like he had just stabbed his mother and father and Jesus Christ. What.

"What?" he mouthed. "Is there something on my face?" He swiped at his right cheek, wondering if he had any leftover pizza sauce crusting on his skin.

Cullen shook his head. It didn't look like he was breathing. He had a hand clamped over both his nose and mouth and his chest was unnaturally still.

"Dude," said Beau, really alarmed now. "Breathe."

Edward shook his head violently, again.

"Do I need to do the Heimlich?" he asked, turning his body towards him, nervously. "Should I get the nurse?" Then, he reached out a hand, not exactly sure what he was going to do with it, but he was not having his science partner die on his freaking first day.

Edward either heard the call of the wild, or God telling him to run, because he rushed out of there like a bat out of hell just as the late bell began to ring.

"And so Darwin-uh, Cullen?" said the teacher, but Edward didn't listen, nearly banging into the door on the way out.

"Whoa," said Beau, blinking, before shaking his head sympathetically. "Must've been something he ate."

...

"So," said Charlie, washing dishes at the kitchen sink. "How was school?"

Beau proceeded to make a dark noise in his throat and stomp up the stairs, giving into his teenage urges for once.

"I guess we're not having any guests," Charlie said to himself. He hummed to himself quietly as he scrubbed at a plate.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title Song: Sous le Ciel de Paris by Edith Piaf (Translation: Under Paris Skies)


	2. La Foule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We would like to thank Rena who is an awesome friend for reading this over for us and all of the lovely people who took time to leave kudos or a comment. We really appreciate it.

...

The next few days were a bit more bearable, if only because the mysteriously handsome Edward Cullen was playing hooky for bit while Beau recalibrated the fact that somehow, despite them not being related, the Cullens all had similar eyes, facial expressions and bone structure. Not to mention the fact that they all had the same, pallid, bone-white complexion. What was Carlisle Cullen feeding his kids, virgin blood? Maybe they all used the same foundation, he mused. Or maybe they lived in a cave.

He drove up to the house that Wednesday after school to see a darkly colored pick up in his normal parking spot. He frowned as he walked up to the front door, which was ajar. He tapped on the wood, calling out "Dad?" nervously.

"In the kitchen, Beau," he heard him say and Beau relaxed. That would've been really freaking scary, coming home to an empty house with the door unlocked and open.

There were two other men in the kitchen with his father, sitting around the table like they were having a meeting of some sort. An older, Native American man in a wheelchair that Beau vaguely recognized from his memories and a younger, lithe dude with long, dark hair and big eyes.

"Beau, this is Billy and you remember his son, Jake," Charlie was saying and Beau blinked, smiling as he moved further into the room.

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "We used to play together on Sunday afternoons. You fixed up my baby," Beau gestured outside to the Chevy he was so attached to, now. "Thanks, by the way. I'm pretty sure she might be the love of my life."

Jake grinned, teeth blaring white against his dark skin. "No problem man, it's just good to see you," and they did that weird half-hug, chest-bump thing that teenagers do.

"God, you're taller than me," Beau muttered grumpily and Jacob smirked.

"Everybody's taller than you, Beau," Charlie said wryly from where he was sitting at the table and Beau put his hands on his hips irritably.

"And whose fault is that, I wonder," he said, cocking a hip.

"Your mother's," Charlie countered.

"That's it," said Beau, sticking his nose in the air. "Me and the guests are having pizza tonight while you get the leftover meatloaf." Jacob snickered at Charlie's disgruntled expression.

"You're so cruel." Billy said, smirking. "Worse than my wife, your boy."

"In the meantime, Jake, you're coming with me," Beau said, dragging him by his sleeve up the stairs, to his room.

"Door stays open, Beau," Charlie called as he turned a page in his newspaper, smiling when he heard Beau blowing a raspberry in his bedroom.

Billy snickered.

"Whoa," said Jacob as he turned around, taking in the bright walls and old furniture. "You really haven't changed a bit, have you."

"Shuddup." Beau smiled to himself. It had really been a long time since he'd hung out with Jacob.

As a kid living in Washington, Beau had gone to school on the nearby La Push reservation up until the sixth grade. All of his friends from school, including Jacob, were a part of the Quileute tribe, except for him. Beau's family had moved from la Push to Forks two years before the divorce, but the school had made an exception for Beau, and allowed him to continue attending the primary school on the Rez. It was mostly because of his father's importance in the community, but also because Charlie had grown up on the reservation with his Quileute mother. Charlie hadn't decided to stay on the reserve, being only one half Native American, and looking it, but he still had kept close relationships with the people there, including Billy Black and his son. He'd returned to La Push to raise Beau with his wife, and Beau had fond memories of his childhood on the reservation. He vividly remembered summer afternoons at the Cliffs, watching the older boys jump off the edge and laughing wildly when they surfaced, spluttering water everywhere and shaking their too long hair out of their eyes.

"God," he said aloud, "It's been forever."

Jacob shrugged. "You left, what can you do?" he asked, bluntly honest. "Now you're back, so you better come by and see the boys, otherwise they'll start kicking your door down."

"I wouldn't put it past them," Beau laughed. "How's Leah and Seth and the rest of them doing?"

Jacob paused for a moment, fingering a framed picture on the dresser. "Yeah, they're all alright. Leah had this nasty breakup about a year or so ago, but she's doing okay."

"Man, I wish I had kept more in touch with you guys," Beau said earnestly. "But you know, with the divorce and all, I guess it just seemed easier..."

"To forget?" Jacob probed. "No, I get it. It's not a big deal. You remember when my Mom died; I shut everybody out, so I can't really talk about coping with things."

Beau remembered Mrs. Black. She'd been a plump, short woman with kind eyes and a thin mouth, always chewing on a lump of spearmint gum, smelling like peppermint and lime. Jacob had shut down after the accident, lips permanently down-turned, eyes dark and flat and he'd turned away from Beau, from everybody except his father. It'd taken a month of radio silence and Beau turning up at his door in the middle of the night to get him to breakdown and start really coming to terms with the idea that she was never coming back.

And even still, Beau didn't know what to say to make it better, because he missed her too, like a physical ache that just wouldn't go away.

So he kept his mouth shut and sat on the bed, pushing his glasses up with his pinkie finger, because he still remembered the silent, dark-haired and frighteningly quiet boy that Jacob had been.

"So..." Jacob drawled, pulling him out of his morose thoughts. "Can I ask about Arizona? Any boyfriends I have to beat up?"

"Dude, no," Beau laughed, that idea seemingly hysterical to him. "No boyfriends now, or in the near future."

Jacob sat and reclined on Beau's bed in what was probably supposed to be a seductive pose, but just looked vaguely painful. "You never know, Beau," Jacob drawled. "I always thought those Cullens a bit too pretty to be..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...exclusive."

Beau was unimpressed. "As enticing as your implying an orgy between adoptive siblings is, I'm pretty sure the Cullens are a bit out of my league."

Jacob made a noise more fitting for a dying cat than a teenage boy. "Gross, dude. Wait." A glazed look crossed his face. "Nah, that'd be pretty hot."

Beau wrinkled his nose delicately.

"Aw, c'mon Princess, don't be like that," Beau's former best friend teased.

"Don't call me Princess," Beau deadpanned.

Jacob laughed. "You always hated that, remember?"

There was a short pause in which both occupants of the room recalled an incident in which seven year old Beau had pushed a loudmouthed Jake into one of the many streams crossing the Reservation. He'd come up spluttering, bangs dripping into his eyes and Beau had laughed so hard he'd fallen in after him.

They had both woken up with colds the next day, skin fever hot and nose Rudolf red.

Beau smiled as he walked over and perched on the soft bench underneath his window. "You're such a jerk, Jacob Black," he said fondly.

Jacob raised a lazy hand and swatted the air in Beau's general direction. "Still the better looking one, anyways."

Beau scoffed. "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night."

"What can I say?" Jacob shrugged. "Girls have higher expectations than guys do."

"I'd beg to differ." Beau's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I forgot how charming you are when you get all snippy." The other boy sat up, back propped against fluffed pillows and he raked a hand through his wild hair, making it look even more ruffled.

Beau eyed the mass of inky black waves and remembered a time when he'd been jealous of how long the Rez boys grew out their hair. His mother never let his curls sneak past the bottom of his ears and at that moment, that'd been the worst sort of torture, having regular boy-short hair when all the rest of his friends had their gorgeous manes that fluttered in the wind like superhero capes.

Jacob was still looking up at him and Beau didn't think Forks was going to be quite so terrible after all.

...

Going back to school wasn't so daunting now that Beau had some friends waiting for him in the wings.

The day was dark and cloudy, typical of Forks and the roads were wet and slick so Beau had to drive with a bit more caution than he would've normally, but not even that could douse his bubbly mood. A mainstream pop song was spilling out of his car's clunky radio, something about starry nights and rosy cheeks, really cheesy, but Beau found himself singing along (read: howling).

Nothing could possibly go wrong, not with him feeling like he was on top of the world.

Eric, Tyler, Angela and Mike were congregated around Jessica's secondhand station wagon, talking and laughing about something Beau didn't catch, but once he finished parking his Baby, he wandered over and beamed at them.

"Ooh," drawled Tyler, waggling his eyebrows. "Someone's in a good mood today."

Beau rolled his eyes. "You're so funny," he said, unmoved. "What? Is it illegal to smile at people now? Is this a thing I need to worry about?"

"Did something happen over the weekend?" Jessica asked, oddly eager, and she moved closer, eyes as interested as a shark that'd just smelled blood.

Angela sighed, "Jess, don't be so nosy."

Jess huffed. "Can you blame me?" she demanded, tossing her curls over a sweater'd shoulder. "Nothing ever happens in Forks, so how else am I supposed to entertain myself?"

"Desperate Housewives?" Beau offered, and the boys snickered loudly to themselves even as Jessica made an outraged squawking noise and Angela rolled her eyes up to the sky.

Jessica made a face at him as she turned to walk towards the school, yelling back at them, "Come on boys, let's not be late for class."

And that was when Beau saw him. He was standing by the entrance to Building A with his sister, the dark-haired one, looking furtively around him, gaze darting from side to side as if looking for someone. For a moment, his eyes caught Beau's and his eyebrows wrinkled, before he quickly averted them, staring at the floor determinedly, refusing to look up again.

Edward Cullen had returned.

Beau had almost forgotten about him, the poor guy who had disappeared in a rush to the bathroom and had never come back, until now, a week later. Jessica, the ever accurate rumor mill, had insisted that he had gotten mono or something, and hadn't been able to come back to school until he got it out of his system for good.

Seeing him now was just as striking as the first time. Beau couldn't believe that such a physically beautiful person could exist—it was kinda annoying, to be honest. But here he was, purposefully looking away from Beau, moving silently from the entrance as Beau walked by.

He didn't look sick anymore, which was good, though he was still that alarming shade of white. He didn't look like he had a fever or anything, though. Beau didn't feel like getting sick, so that was a plus.

Beau remembered he was staring so he waved at Edward, trying for the friendly approach. But the guy refused to meet his eyes and so Beau quickly put his hand down so he wouldn't look like an idiot.

So much for that.

...

The day went smoothly after that. English was easy, as they were in the middle of reading A Catcher In The Rye, which Beau had read in tenth grade back in Arizona. Eric kept bugging him with questions about the answers to an AP History test he'd taken on Monday, but Beau didn't tell him the questions, just directed him to study in the right places.

Beau didn't see Cullen at lunch, and he never glimpsed him again. By the time science rolled around he was sure that Edward had probably gone home already, so when he saw Edward sitting calmly at their lab table, he was completely unprepared.

He looked a little bit tense, sitting all alone, and Beau could see Mike and Eric glancing over at Beau in concern.

Beau resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Small and skinny he might've been, but he could handle sitting next to Edward "The Raincloud" Cullen.

Once Beau sat down, he could see Cullen casting quick glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

Poor guy, Beau sympathized. Couldn't have been easy, nearly sicking up in front of his entire class. Strangely, no one was snickering or laughing, though, so Beau guessed the Cullens still had some clout in that they were intimidatingly cool, beautiful and all around perfect.

Beau was a good person, though, despite all evidence to the contrary, so he pushed three days of notes over to the poor guy.

Edward's perfectly shaped shoulders were stiff underneath a designer button-up and Jesus Christ, did this guy even know how to get dressed without spending 800 dollars?

"It's the notes," Beau voiced unnecessarily. "Um. From the past few classes. I thought you might want to... copy?" His voice trailed up at the end because Edward's face could've been stone for all he was responding.

"Thanks," those cool lips finally formed, golden-amber eyes barely flickering his way...

Whoa. Whoa. Hold up. Wait a minute. Beau could've sworn on his grandfather's grave that the last time he'd seen Cullen, those eyes had been pitch black and wide with nausea or something similar to it, at least.

And no one had eyes that color—golden-amber, what the hell was this, some badly written fantasy fanfiction? Yeah, very likely.

Beau ignored that spirally vortex of thought in favor of lending Cullen a pen and watching as the other dude put his messy, loopy handwriting to shame with some form of simplistic, yet annoyingly impressive calligraphy.

"Wow," he said aloud. "Nice handwriting." Was there anything this guy couldn't do? Even his voice sounded perfect.

Edward shrugged, a fluid movement that belied the tight grip he had on Beau's ballpoint.

"Anyways," Beau backtracked rapidly, pushing his glasses up nervously with the tip of his pinky finger. "You didn't miss much—Mr. Banner just assigned us a lab yesterday, so I guess he's gonna want you to start it during lunch tomorrow. Unless, you know, you wanted to look at some of the work I did so far, 'cause. Y'know. We're lab partners and all."

Beau babbled when he was nervous. If that wasn't obvious.

Edward nodded seriously. "Right. A lab, of course." A man of few words. Beau could dig it. He'd had a few quieter friends back in Arizona, so Edward wouldn't be so hard to deal with. As long as he wasn't an asshole.

"It's pretty simple, he probably has the worksheet with him, and if he doesn't, I'll photocopy mine and email it to you today, if you'd like."

Edward's expression didn't change. "That won't be necessary," he annunciated slowly, like he was focusing on getting each syllable right instead of punching somebody in the face. "I'll talk to Mr. Banner today. Thank you."

Could an imitation of a wooden board get any better than that?

Beau blinked, and wisely tried to stop making conversation. It obviously wasn't winning any brownie points with this ray of sunshine.

"Sure," he muttered under his breath. "No problem, dude."

What's his deal? Beau grumbled to himself. Homophobia? That was something Beau could handle, but for some reason Beau didn't think that was it. Usually the few assholes he encountered were a lot louder when expressing their displeasure at his existence.

No, something was up with Cullen and Beau didn't think it had anything to do with his orientation.

Well. As long as Cullen minded his business, Beau would mind his, no harm, no foul.

...

"Let the record show that I loudly warned you all of my uselessness before tears started flowing," Beau warned at gym period, after the Edward Cullen Conversation Fail of Biology.

"You know, you and Jessica should have a competition to see who's more of a drama queen," Angela said dryly.

"I would win," Beau declared immediately. "Consider Jessica disqualified."

Their conversation was cut short when Coach Zepler shouted "Stretches, buttercups, stretches! We don't want any pulled hamstrings or watery eyeballs in my gymnasium, no sir!"

Zepler was a tall, greying woman with fish lips, iron thighs and a big nose. Add in Nike sneakers, a fuchsia jumpsuit and a voice that could rattle concrete and she was an intimidating figure among all the sissy boys and girls of Forks High.

Beau obligingly did the assigned stretches, though very grudgingly. Touch-toes, arm circles, shoulder rolls, half-splits, lunges. Ugh.

"Someone shoot me now," he heard Jess grumble out of his hearing range and smothered his giggle into his armpit.

"C'mon, buttercups, let's go, go, GO!" Zepler roared as she led the way outside, onto a looping, orange running track, which also served as the cross country training field. It was cold out, the air biting, and even most of the girls who liked wearing shorts in the smack middle of winter had covered up for gym. The only upside to the entire thing was that the outside unit was nearly finished. Soon, they'd be going inside for volleyball (Beau was understandably thrilled).

(Not).

Beau wasn't very good with hand-eye coordination. Give him a ball and a goal and he'd probably put somebody in the hospital. But he could run. And he was fast. So he took several laps around the track for most of the period before taking a short break near a bench. It was strange, as he utterly despised all other forms of exercise, but running was relaxing to him. His legs pumping rhythmically underneath him, lungs and thigh muscles burning pleasantly, wind ruffling his hair, eyes streaming a little towards the end. He could run and not think and calm the buzzing in his head for a just a bit and to be honest, he could always use a few more minutes of mindless exercise propelling him forward every day or so.

There were a few canisters on the lowest rung of bleachers holding different drinks for the runners, thankfully. He managed to gulp down three paper cups worth of water before anyone noticed he was missing.

"Good run, Swan!" Zepler shouted a few meters away. "Keep moving like that and we'll make a man outta you yet!"

"Good God," he groaned to himself. He wanted to wet his burning face a little bit, but it was too cold for that. His glasses were fogging up. "Being a man is overrated."

A giggle at his left shoulder made him jump and swear and whirl around wildly. He relaxed when he realized it was just one of the Cullens.

"Um. Alice, right?" he asked with no small amount of hesitation.

Alice (?) laughed again. Christ, her giggles sounded like silver bells. If he wasn't as bent as a bendy straw from an elementary boy's lunchbox, he'd be swooning right now. Heck, he was gay and he was still swooning. She was real short (shorter than him and that was saying something) and her hair, scissored into a professional pixie cut, was dark and spiky and her eyes were huge yellow-gold droplets in her pale, perfect face. Her mouth was small and red, like a berry, and Beau found himself smiling at her automatically, she was just so cute.

"Hi," she said. "Yeah, I'm Alice. It's nice to meet you, Beauregard!"

Wow. She was a lot nicer than The Other Cullen, that was for sure.

"Nice to meet you too," he said honestly. He held out his hand for her to shake. "Call me Beau. I don't think we have any classes together, sorry."

Her hand was icy cold compared to his sweaty skin, but he didn't flinch away from her. She laughed. "No, but I think my brother Edward might be in Biology with you," she said conspiratorially.

"Yeah," he said. "People have told me you guys are adopted, but you two look really similar. Your... your eyes and your skin... all kinda eerie, sorry if I'm coming off rude."

"No, it's fine," she told him, kindly. "It's a bit of coincidence, if I do say so myself."

Beau frowned and scrubbed his fingers under his glasses and over his eyes consideringly. "Hnn," he said, as he wiped his face clean of any sweat droplets.

He opened his mouth to continue talking but was interrupted by Jess who yelled over the pitch. "Beau?!" Her voice was incredulous and when he looked over, he could see her wide eyes from where he was standing.

"Oh." Beau waved, more a waggle of fingers really, before shifting back towards Alice, a little torn. "Sorry, I have to get back."

Alice nodded, head bobbing rhythmically. "No, I get it. See you later?"

Beau hummed an affirmative. "Sure, why not?" He smiled quickly and jogged back over to Jess, looking back just once to see Alice giving someone in the bleachers a thumbs-up.

Beau was too busy fending off Jess's insistent questions to give much thought to that transaction, to be honest.

...

Beau had thought he'd prepared a little for another intensely awkward lab period with Edward. He thought, you know, that he'd already pinned Edward down as a guy that wasn't so good with talking to people he didn't know and thought silence was a better alternative to awkward conversation.

That Beau could deal with.

But, of course, nothing was that simple with Edward Cullen.

Edward looked like he was meditating or something. His eyes were closed and he had a small upturn to the edge of his lips that made Beau wonder if he was smiling. He was barely breathing and his elbows were up on the table, his hands crossed neatly, one on top of the other in front of him. Beau put his messenger bag down on the floor next to his seat, and sat down gently, watching Edward cautiously. He had a strange urge to poke him to see if he was alive. Hesitantly, he put out his hand reaching slowly and that was when Edward spoke.

"Hi, Beau." Edward spoke lowly, without opening his eyes.

Beau was frozen with his hand outstretched. He quickly retracted it and turned to face Edward, surprise etched into his face. "Uh—? How did you—?" That was the first time anybody had called him Beau at first, instead of Beauregard.

"I heard you sit down," Edward answered calmly, turning a bit to face the other boy properly.

Beau blinked.

Edward finally opened his eyes, his smile a bit rigid, but it was still a smile. Beau wasn't picky. "I'm sorry— we haven't been properly introduced, but I wasn't quite feeling myself the day you arrived here..."

Beau smiled sympathetically and nodded at him to continue.

Edward's words were a bit stilted, but he was trying. It was strangely cute, how he stiffly shrugged and smiled awkwardly. "Anyways, I'm Edward, Edward Cullen. Our parents know each other. My father is Dr. Cullen, he works at the hospital."

Beau blinked and nodded. "Oh, yeah. Dad mentioned him, yesterday, I think." He tilted his head. "So, are you okay? You didn't look so good a couple days ago."

Edward's mouth turned up on one side. "Believe it or not, I came down with mono in the middle of school."

"Oh I can believe it all right," Beau laughed, a bit unnerved. "The speed at which you sprinted to the bathroom was Olympic medal worthy. I'm just glad you're feeling better now, so I don't have to worry about you throwing up on me."

Automatically Beau winced at himself—that was rude, Beau, what the hell—but it was alright because, to his surprise, Edward began laughing sincerely.

"I'll go get us a microscope for the lab," Edward managed to squeeze out after his chuckles died away.

Beau quirked a side of his mouth as he watched Edward jog over to the back of the room.

Maybe Edward wasn't so weird after all, Beau told himself, considering. Maybe he had just imagined the look in the parking lot that morning and the angry way he ignored Beau yesterday. It was probably true that being suddenly out in a new school could make a person paranoid. Not that Beau had been planning on keeping it a secret; it was just really weird and unsettling to be the talk of the entire school after only one day.

He'd been planning on trying to fly under the radar, so that when he eventually left Forks to go back to his mother it wouldn't be such a huge thing. But he'd already made new friends, reconnected with an old one, outed himself accidentally, and found a new crush all in the span of one week.

So far, flying low was out of the question.

But, as hunky Edward "Up Chucks" Cullen came back, bulging forearms full of two microscopes, Beau thought it wasn't all so bad.

They did the lab pretty quickly compared to the rest of the class—Beau had already done this one back in Arizona and Edward was perfect at everything, so it wasn't much of a surprise that they finished early. Beau glanced outside and blinked, surprised.

It was snowing.

Tiny, perfect little flakes were falling from the sky, which was gray, as always. They were little more than specks and when they hit the ground, they were barely there for a second before fading away into the mud, but still, Beau's mouth flapped open and he pressed his fingertips to the window, fogging the glass for a second before wiping it away and pressing closer.

"It's snowing," he said, stupidly.

Edward shifted quietly. "Yes," he answered. "It does that a lot, in Forks."

Beau didn't reply, only placed his hand more firmly against the windowpane and watching as his heat spread thick fog against the glass's cold.

"Have you never seen snow before?" he heard Cullen ask.

"I have," he said, and paused. "Like, five years ago."

There was a faint chuckle from beside him. "Wow."

Beau frowned. "Dude, I live—lived—in Arizona. What did you expect me to say?"

"But didn't you live here, before, when you were a child?" Edward asked, suddenly; Beau frowned.

"How'd you know that?" Beau asked calmly.

Edward shrugged. "Small town, you know?"

There was a short pause. "Yeah, I did live here when I was younger. But that was a long time ago."

Edward arched an eyebrow, curiously. "Why did you move?" he asked quietly, before saying "Sorry, if I'm being rude, I was just—"

Beau only glanced once at the window before sighing and shrugging—it couldn't hurt. "I lived in Forks, but before that we lived on the reservation, in La Push," he said, honestly, not missing the way Edward's shoulders seemed to inexplicably tighten and then forcibly relax.

"My dad's half-Quileute, but my mom wanted to be closer to her dad, so we moved. But I guess my dad still wanted me to know about the culture, so I continued going to school on the Rez. And it was awesome; I had a lot of good friends..." He stopped. "My parents divorced a few years after we moved. And." He huffed, softly, frustrated with how he couldn't seem to get three sentences out without freaking stopping. "My mom got custody and we went to Phoenix. That was it, I guess."

Edward was nodding sympathetically. "I can't imagine," he said, and Beau appreciated the effort. But, it had been a bad time for him. He hadn't talked to Dad, his mom had run half-way across the country to get away from him, he'd been uprooted from the only friends he'd ever known. It hadn't been pretty. But René, his mom, had been there for him, even if mostly she was too scattered to make a decent meal or pay the electric bill on time. There were other kids who didn't have it as good.

He was lucky, really lucky.

He said, instead of all of that, "I had my mom and she was enough. She took care of me." He didn't like talking about himself, much, so he asked "So, what about you, what's Edward Cullen's story?" His name sounded weird on Beau's tongue—it was just so sophisticated and old, you know, like something your grandpa would be named if he were European and classy. And that was kinda weird; Edward Cullen.

Edward mimicked Beau from earlier, shoulders shrugging noncommittally. "My mother, Esme, she wanted to live in a smaller town, somewhere cozier than what we had before, in Alaska. So we moved, two years ago. Wasn't that big of a deal. I didn't have a lot of friends." His white, large hands were balled up into tense fists on the desk. He probably didn't even realize it.

Somehow that didn't surprise Beau. The Cullens were undeniably strange. Unable, in a way, to really fit in because they were just all so inexplicably perfect.

Separated from the rest, just because they were so intimidatingly everything everyone ever wanted to be.

Beau tilted his head.

Edward Cullen wasn't really rude or mad at Beau. He was just shy.

Maybe they could be friends, after all.

...

Beau had spoken too soon.

Don't get Beau wrong, it was good for a bit. Edward and Beau weren't automatically "BFFS" during their first week of knowing each other or whatever, but they got along. Beau waved at Ed in the hallways and although sometimes Tall, Pale and Handsome looked a little freaked out by social interaction, he usually succeeded in waving back, even if it was while cringing awkwardly.

They talked easier in Science class and that was how Beau figured out Edward was some sort of child prodigy, with the way he took to AP Biology the way a duck took to water. He barely needed to take notes in order to understand what was going on and when he did, it was always briefly and without effort.

Or organization.

That was the one thing Beau could say he was better at than Edward, because Edward's locker was a hot mess. He'd stopped by once, to get the homework, and Ed had slammed the door on a whirlwind of papers, broken, leaking pens and mangled textbooks.

He'd walked back to Baby Jean with a skip in his step, humming some tune Angela had showed him earlier in the day.

And you know what, Beau should've expected something like what was coming.

It happened while he was on the phone with his girl-friend, Marisa, from Arizona, walking back to his car. She was complaining about some boy when he found his phone smacked out of his hands and in somebody else's.

Beau blinked up, dumbly, into viciously narrowed eyes before taking a step back.

It was one of the Cullens, the supermodel blonde chick with perfectly curled hair and cotton-candy lips. Her cherry-red nails were curled tightly over Beau's crappy mobile and Beau's mouth closed and opened in outrage.

"Sweetheart," he started when he found his voice. "What the hell."

The girl sneered nastily and looked down her elegantly sloped nose at him. "Listen, twinkling," she hissed and what the hell, were all The Cullens blessed with stupidly pretty voices? "I don't know who you are, and frankly, I could care less. But I'm not blind and I can see 'pathetic loser' a mile away. Maybe you should wait a hot minute before you start toying with my brother, hmm?"

Beau snorted. Okay, he couldn't help himself, this was freaking hilarious. "Who?" he asked, and maybe he would've gotten himself into a rant over the stupid thing if he hadn't heard Marisa shouting at him in Legally Blonde 2's polished fingers. "Listen, lady, I don't have time for this. Homophobe at me all you want now, but I'll have to book you in for an appointment later."

He figured it was a gay thing-it hadn't been the first time an idiot had decided to accuse him of launching their brother or friend or son over the rainbow maypole. Despite him never having had a boyfriend, what the hell.

"No," she snarled and Beau jumped at the look of hatred that splashed across her pretty face. She... she looked like a monster, her eyes glaring, her painted upper lip curling over too sharp canines. "You stay the fuck away from my brother, Swan, or else. You've caused enough trouble already."

But Beau had enough. "I'm done," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I didn't have to deal with half the drama in La Push, dear God," and he plucked his phone out of her cold little fingers and walked away, muttering to himself about crazy overprotective bitches and their crazy overprotective minds.

Marisa was understandably annoyed at him until he explained the situation to her in soothing tones and then she was all sympathy.

"Oh, you know," she said, and he could see her, curling her thick black hair expertly with a slim finger, lounging in the school auditorium, the air conditioner at full blast in the desert heat. "High school girls, they're so possessive—easily jealous, you know?"

"Marisa," Beau muttered, dryly, "She's his sister," because of course this was about Edward, the Now Approachable Raincloud.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "That's even worse. No one likes a meddling sister."

Beau frowned. "I swear, Mar, they're so freaking weird here."

"You're in Mainstreet, USA, suburban America, remember?" He could hear her laugh. "Not in Phoenix anymore."

Beau sighed gustily. "Yeah, sure."

Fucking Cullens, man.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title Song: La Foule by Edith Piaf (Translation: "The Crowd")


	3. l'Accordéoniste

Edward's new and strange aversion to him the next day didn't help at all. He lumbered over to Beau's table in the library that afternoon to awkwardly apologize in a rumbling voice—"Sorry about that... thing with my sister, yesterday. Just ignore her, she becomes... weird when she's mad,"—and he didn't even give Beau time enough to open his mouth and respond before he was gone.

Just like that.

It was like they were at square one all over again.

He huffed in frustration at his textbook. He didn't even want to study anyways. It was snowing heavily outside, now, and he'd had to walk to school because he didn't trust himself with Baby Jean. Her tires were still older, from summer, and probably wouldn't have been able to stand up to the icy roads. At least he'd managed to avoid Jessica. She'd been trying to corner him all day to interrogate him about his interaction with Rosalie (?) Cullen, ever since she'd heard about it the day before.

Beau packed up his books when the bell rang and threw his gum in the trash on his way out of the library. He pulled his hat on, adjusted his scarf, and began to tromp his way home, tiny little snowflakes surfing on the wind to the ground as he pushed up his glasses and tilted his head back to the sky.

Forks wasn't all that bad after all, Beau was slowly realizing. He hadn't expected to like the town at all, but possibly to his chagrin, he was actually making friends and beginning to fit in. And that wasn't a bad thing. Like, he always saw in the movies that people were always emphasizing being different and out there, but just being himself for once made all the difference in his life and in his friends.

And it wasn't just in school that he found himself having fun. He'd gone to visit the Reservation during his second week in Forks, and visited with Billy and Jacob, as well as Beau's grandmother. She was a sharp-tongued old Quileute woman with russet, crinkled skin and crows-feet that popped up around her eyes whenever she smiled. He'd sat at her table, chattering, eating soft-bread sandwiches and drinking her sweet lemonade, tolerating her cheek-pinches and remarks about his skinny shoulders. She was the best grandma, and one of the more involved women in the Quileute community. It wasn't just Jacob that had taken to calling her Grandma Swan. Her house was on the edge of the Reservation, overlooking a long stretch of road surrounded by thick cut woods, her wood-beam porch sagging from decades of use. His father had grown up in that house—his old bedroom had been converted into a spare, the sheets new, but the quilt had been made by hand, swirling designs covering the white expanse in thick ink slashes.

Jacob and Beau had steadily rebuilt their friendship, playing video games every other day after school at his house, his dad usually hiding in his office as they yelled and laughed. Jacob was a good friend and despite the years that had passed, it seemed like just yesterday that they'd been little kids daring each other to jump into the frigid water of the North Pacific Ocean. Jake's close friends Embry and Quil were cheerful, rowdy boys who acted a bit too much like their age to really connect to Beau. Beau was content enough to just watch them roughhouse on the soft yard outside of Jacob's garage, bundled up in coats and scarves to protect himself from the biting cold.

Beau was also getting used to life with his father. Charlie had been awkward and a little stilted to get along with at first, but gradually it became clear that living together suited both Beau and his father very well. His dad didn't smother him, and that was fine with Beau. Neither did his father require the coddling his accident prone mother did (there was no question where Beau got his clumsiness from). But at the same time, Beau had taken on house duties very well, and his father claimed that after only two weeks of living in Forks, Beau had already helped him reduce his waistline with his healthy (but delicious) cooking.

He rounded the end of the parking lot and sighed. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Edward since Biology, and he'd barely said more than three words to him since Mr. Laurence had decided to give lecture the entire period. Beau knew he was being silly, but he felt like he wouldn't be able to rest until he could talk to Edward.

Beau glanced over at the school field as he walked past it. The football team was out, doing drills on the slowly whitening field, which was really, really weird because even Beau knew that football did not happen in March, it just didn't. Maybe they were just obsessed, he reasoned with himself.

He'd never been a sporty guy before, but he couldn't help but wonder if Edward did any sports. He had to at least be into exercise. No one got fit like that without at least doing a couple of marathons. For a few moments Beau lost himself in a daydream about running a marathon with Edward, the way some couples did, side by side, before he was jerked out of it by a car whirring by, honking.

Suddenly Beau realized with a groan that he'd forgotten to go to his locker and get his books for homework before he'd left.

Stupid Edward Cullen, with his stupid handsome face, and his stupid and absolutely not adorable inability to communicate like a normal human, making Beau go and daydream when he should have been thinking about more important things in life, like Trigonometry...

Beau stomped all the way back to the school, noticing that the football team had gone as he passed the field. Figured. No coach was sadistic enough to make their players practice long in this weather. He tromped to his locker in shame. He usually wasn't this forgetful. Once more he cursed the spirit of Edward Cullen, blaming him for his misfortune.

He bullied his locker open and shoved a few books into his bag distractedly. He slammed the door shut and turned, only to stop on a dime when he came face to chest with the hulking figure of a senior football player in a letterman jacket.

"Oops! Sorry, dude! I didn't see you there." He smiled sheepishly up at him and attempted to sidle by him only to come up short when the guy mirrored his move. "Uh, I go this way, you go that way?" Beau joked with a half-grin.

The Hulk didn't smile back.

"You know what? I'll go through the back entrance..." said Beau, backing away, his grin fading.

Surprise, surprise, Beau came up short when his back hit something solid that felt suspiciously like another freakishly tall, freakishly muscular person's chest.

Oh shit.

Beau could feel the cliché crawling up on him. He'd never fully appreciated before the accuracy of high school dramas. For the first time in his life he found himself empathizing with the archetypal geeky hero. He apologized profusely to any deity that might be listening for any and every time he had laughed at one of them.

"Look guys, I don't want any trouble..." Beau started to say. Two other jocks had seemingly apparated from nowhere, and they were all starting to glare. He turned to the one directly behind him and the guy began to smile, all sharp teeth and crooked grin.

He was a pretty handsome dude, too, with spiky blond hair and bright hazel eyes; to be honest, if he weren't freaking Beau the hell out with his bulky gang of creepy All American Football Players, he would've been all over that.

"Don't get me wrong, buddy, we don't want it all that much, either." All American's voice was soothing and low, but the calming effect he intended was counteracted by his buddies giggling.

"Whatever I did wrong, I didn't mean it." By this point, Beau was holding up his hands. "Is there anyway—"

All American Apple Pie laughed, freaking laughed, at that. "Nah, faggot. It's not like it's something you can control. You were born like that, after all," The words were said in a friendly tone, but all Beau could see were his eyes, mocking and cold. "At least, that's what everybody tells us, isn't that right, boys?"

There was a ripple of agreeable whispers and Beau just stared at them. "Really. That's what this is all about."

He just couldn't believe it. You know what, he actually could, because this town was freaking sucky and, if he was correct, then it was just about to get ten times as worse. "Okay, okay. Fine, gang up on the little queer. Don't worry, I can take it." He'd been roughed up a bit before, in Arizona. It hadn't been anything serious, nothing like those things you'd see on the news. Just a bit of pushing around, a black eye or a bad rib, but nothing serious.

"Don't worry, cock-sucker," All American was saying, voice still friendly and chirpy and wasn't that just freaking Beau the frick out. "We're not gonna hurt you." One of his goons snickered. "We're just gonna put you back in the closet."

Beau's cheeks felt cold because the blood was draining from them and he glanced behind them because fuck no that was a closet door wasn't it.

He didn't remember charging at them, but he did remember getting a fist to his mouth for his efforts and feeling the clack of his teeth and the snap of his head when he hit the floor. His tongue tasted like blood.

"Freaking queers, man," he heard one of them say and he was up and fighting before he could finish.

Fun facts about Beau: he hated homophobes, but he hated small spaces more.

But there were, what, four, five of them and one of him and they grabbed his shoulders and his arms and one of them swung him into the air, feet kicking and all, so another could get his legs and he was cursing and spitting and pleading for them to please not put him in there, fuck, please—

"PUT HIM DOWN!"

The Hulk paused, whipping his head around in case it was a teacher, but All American still had a firm hold on his shoulders, so he couldn't just twist away. They dropped him anyways, though, pinning him to the ground so he couldn't move, but he was still wriggling like a fish. It was only when another guy struck his face again that he realized he'd been yelling. The slap managed to turn his head, and though his view was tilted, he could see dimly an outline—tall and muscly and unconsciously elegant.

Edward, freaking, Cullen.

His luck, ladies and gentlemen.

But at that moment, he couldn't have been happier. Prince Charming in the flesh. Oh God, what was his life.

"Yo, Cullen," said the Hulk. "Nothing to see here. Go on."

The pack holding Beau shuffled obligingly to the side, making a path for Ed to walk, and how could thugs literally about to lock him in a closet seem polite, what the hell?

"Put him down," Edward said firmly, chest rising deeply up down up down, as if he'd been running a marathon. His hair was all mussed and his eyes were scarily bright. But despite it all, his voice was calm, like he was just asking for the check or talking about the weather. Casually, as if he'd done it a million times.

"Edward..." Oh, man, was that his voice? He sounded like he'd taken in helium. Somebody put their foot on his face and stepped threateningly and tears sprang into his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up," All American said pleasantly. "Cullen, man, are you really going to do this? Standing up for a faggot? Really?"

"Beating up the Sheriff's kid?" Edward asked, equally as chill. "Really? Thought you were smarter, Miller."

'Miller'. Even his name sounded like an apple pie.

Miller shrugged easily, rolling his shoulders like he was in class or at home. "Gave you a chance, Cullen. You can just get on in the closet with the queer. Don't blame us when he jumps you."

"You're a freak, Miller." Edward sounded disgusted.

"You're one to talk." Miller sneered. "Perfect little Cullen with his cars and his perfect wittle family. If anything, you're the freak here."

Edward looked distantly grossed out, like he was looking at something on the bottom of his shoe rather than anyone important. "Way to sound jealous, Miller."

Miller was unmoved. "Shut the fuck up and get in the closet, Cullen." He smirked. "We don't want to ruin that perfect face of yours, anyways."

Edward paused, sizing them all up harshly with his sharp eyes. Beau knew it was useless. Even if Edward knew some obscure martial arts from wherever the hell he came from, he couldn't possibly go up against five football players alone. And it wasn't like Beau could help or anything. No, he felt very comfortable right where he was (under Miller's foot, with a possible concussion. Yeah.)

Edward went into the closet.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title Song: l'Accordéoniste by Edith Piaf (Translation: "The Accordionist")


	4. Esperaré

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're in a closet. Literally.

Beau banged his elbow and knees when they threw him in after Cullen, hitting the hard floor and knocking over some mops and buckets, and when they closed the door on him, he scrabbled at the wood with his fingernails desperately, slamming his body against it in hopes of being let out. It took Edward taking hold of him and yanking him backwards for him to realize he was nearly shredding his nails to pieces.

"Let me out!" he yelled. "Just fucking let us out, please—" he choked on his own tongue, convulsing.  _"Goddammit."_

He couldn't breathe, the space was just too small, air tight and hot in his chest and he could feel himself growing lightheaded as he tried to take in oxygen that just wasn't there, oh crap—

He was freaking out, a panic attack.

And he couldn't fucking breathe.

And all of a sudden, there was a big, cold hand covering his shoulder and a bit of his back. It shook him roughly and he looked up.

He was very close, eyes dark in the dim light and his voice came through thick and slow, like he was talking under water.

"Beau," he said softly. "You need to calm down."

"Fuck, I'm sorry... I just can't, I can't breathe, it's too small, so sorry, so—"

"Beau, look at me. You're hyperventilating. Your pulse is skyrocketing. Look at me." His voice was intensely calm in the little panic-hurricane Beau was riding out. "Match my breathing."

Beau wished he could say he had half as much confidence, as much cool as Edward did. No matter what the situation, he had this aloofness to him that made him untouchable. His breathing slowed a bit, before he felt the tears come rushing.

He sank to the floor and Edward came with him, keeping a grip on his shoulder. He pulled Beau close, enveloping him completely in the circle of his arms. Beau was pretty sure he would be embarrassed about the way he sobbed and hiccupped in Edward's arms later, but he was too busy shaking his way through the biggest  _holy shit_  of a panic attack to care at the moment.

By the time he was done, his eyes were streaming tears from exertion and Edward still had him in his awkwardly cold arms, his face half-buried into the guy's shoulder. Edward was sitting half against the door holding Beau against him as he curled up against his side, one hand curled tightly in the fabric of Edward's shirt, the other thrown behind Edward's neck.

He could feel humiliation slipping into his skin like that old friend you desperately pretended you didn't know when they waved at you in public.

"Thanks, Edward," he snuffled, voice still clogged slightly from sobbing.

"Not a problem, Beau," was whispered back and Beau expected him to let go soon, but when he wasn't released, he took that as a clue to keep talking.

"No, not just that. Thanks for—" It was hard to find his voice, "Thanks for... telling them to stop."

Edward's arms tightened imperceptibly, maybe trying to offer comfort, Beau didn't know.

"You shouldn't have to thank me for that." His tone was weird. "It was the decent thing—the human thing to do."

Beau's fingers curled more firmly into Edward's shirt. "But that's not the point—you could've ignored it. You could've just kept on walking, you know? You had a choice and you didn't take it and..." His eyes welled up, wet and salty. "And I'm glad you didn't let me be alone." He choked at the end of it and Edward hushed him kindly. They stayed there for a moment, just soaking it all in.  Beau could feel Cullen's cool breath on the back of his neck and he shivered, in a good way, but that just reminded him that this wasn't the most typical situation. So, Beau tried to move away, to give himself some space, but Edward just wouldn't let go.

Beau was tense, now, though, so he laughed awkwardly, voice still a bit thick with tears and snuggled closer. Well. He hadn't expected the end of the day to involve a cuddle session with the most gorgeous guy in the world this side of Angelina Jolie.

Edward let him go eventually, fingers lingering for a bit after he pulled away, trailing up his arms too intimately to wrap around his shoulders. His eyes were strangely dark and intense in the dim light slotting into the room from underneath the locked door and when Beau met them with his own, they glinted.

But his shoulders were stiff and as close as they were, Beau couldn't hear him breathing. It didn't take much to get him worried, so he asked, "Dude, are you okay?"

Edward nodded tightly, and he answered, tightly, "Yeah, fine. It's a bit stuffy in here, don't you think?"

Beau laughed humorlessly. "Seeing as I was the one who just had the crippling anxiety attack, I think I can say yes to that, a little."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Beau, I wasn't thinking—"

"Nah, it's okay," Beau muttered.

He swiped at his eyes, tears clearing so he could see.

The room they were in was dimly lit by a naked yellow light bulb chained to the ceiling, swinging a little bit and casting unnecessarily creepy shadows against the walls. There were two racks covered with towels and cleaners and assorted tools, and a mop stuck in a yellow bucket. It was a small space, but not as small as his claustrophobic subconscious had feared. There was enough room for them to stretch out if they needed to, and enough for Beau to realize that his proximity to Edward, practically sitting in his lap, was frankly ridiculous.

He didn't move away, though. It was pointless, so he just tangled their legs more firmly together and placed his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees, looking up at Edward, who was still against the door.

Edward seemed to have calmed down by then, so that was a plus. Beau wrestled with his thoughts, trying to get them to organize themselves. There was no mistaking that he was clearly shaken up. He couldn't figure out what to say, couldn't prioritize, so he just shut his mouth and tried to calm his racing mind. They sat there, in companionable silence for what felt like hours, but was probably only ten minutes or so, until Beau finally broke the quiet.

He took a deep breath and composed himself. "I meant what I said. What you did—standing up for me—I appreciate it. I'm sorry you got dragged into this, though."

"It wasn't a problem, Beau," Edward looked up at him from between his eyelashes. His lips turned up slightly at the edges. He tentatively placed his hand on top of Beau's smaller one. "It was my pleasure." His eyes were golden in the soft glow of the dusty light bulb. Beau felt himself draw in a breath, ragged as if he'd just surfaced from under water.

Beau swallowed hard and looked away. They were enveloped by the silence once more, but this time, the hush was accompanied with something much deeper, an almost tangible tension.

"We'll get out of here eventually," Beau murmured, more to himself than anything. "Danny'll be doing his rounds soon." Danny was the sweet old janitor who always smiled gummily at Beau when he walked through the halls.

"There's somebody outside the door," Edward told him, barely more than a murmur.

Beau stiffened. "What—"

Edward shook his head. "One of those idiots stayed behind. He's guarding the door."

Beau growled. "I am  _not_  spending the night stuck in a closet." He made to stand, but Edward grabbed his hip before he could.

"There's no point," he explained as Beau flailed in outrage. "The only thing we can do is sit and wait. We don't need you getting hurt anymore, okay?"

Beau opened his mouth to protest but that moment his cheek and his busted lip decided to throb in union, so he only winced and nodded, settling back down.

The hand on his hip moved up to gently touch his bruised jaw-line, wonderfully cool against his aching skin and Beau sighed inaudibly.

"They hurt you," Edward said and when Beau looked at him, his eyes were narrow with fury, swirling almost black.

Beau smiled weakly. "Assholes happen," he joked.

"You don't know what they were thinking."

His hand cupped Beau's face tangibly, his thick thumb slowly caressing his jaw.

"Well, they obviously weren't planning a housewarming party!" Beau laughed, near hysterical.

Edward looked at him seriously. "They wanted to  _break_  you."

Beau stopped smiling. "You don't know that." His hands tentatively found Edward's shoulders in the dark, and when there was no protest, his fingers grasped tightly. "You can't know that." But Miller's face just kept coming back to him in the dark, his mean smile, his cool, sweet voice and the glinting way he looked at Beau, like he was something to eat.

He shivered.

"I won't let him hurt you," Edward vowed and Beau bowed his head, speechless. "I won't."

Beau said nothing.

And that was when three things happened in quick succession.

A soft voice came from the other side of the door.

A loud argument started that Beau couldn't quite hear, but that ended with an even louder "BAM!"

The door opened.

"Jacob!"

...

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM, YOU PIECE OF—"

In a blur, Beau was ripped out of Edward's arms and pulled into Jacob's, his friend examining him quickly, hands readjusting his clothing and a growl emanating from him when he saw the bruises.

"You—You..." Jacob's face was red with anger, unable to form words that could articulate the complete and utter rage he was feeling.

Immediately, Beau got between them before anyone started throwing punches, specifically Jacob.

"Hey, hey," Beau placated, hands in the air. "Let's not jump to conclusions here, okay? He didn't do anything to me, Jake. Calm down."

Jacob was still fuming, not listening to a word he was saying. It only got worse when he saw the bruises more clearly. Beau winced as his face was manhandled into a better position for his friend to examine.

"Did he touch you?" Jacob demanded as he flailed around, eyes going from Beau's purpling cheek to his busted lip to Edward and back.

"No, it was the asshole who put us in there in the first place," Beau mumbled, not appreciating Jacob, Mother-Hen Edition, in the slightest.

Jacob didn't seem convinced, still glaring at Edward who'd slowly risen to his feet during the argument.

"Why're you even here?" Beau asked, not unkindly. "Not that I don't appreciate the help and everything, but I thought you were up at the Res?"

"I wasn't going to let you walk home in this weather, not with your truck in the shop," the other boy said, swiveling his attention back to Beau.

Beau blinked. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,'" Jacob blustered. "I was waiting in the parking lot, you know, for you. And you were taking a long time, so I decided to go and tell you to hurry up. I wandered into this place and there was this lump of meat—" here he gestured vaguely indicating height and width, "hovering around, in the hallways, and he came up to me to tell me to get the hell out—so I knew something was up. So I look around him, and see that somebody'd spraypainted a slur on a closet door."

Beau whipped his head around—the door was wide open, so they couldn't see the back at first, but then Edward stepped forwards and closed it shut and—

"Well," he said. "That's very creative." His voice was sour. The letters were barely legible, blocky things that nearly faded into each other, the paint still wet and glinting on the wood. But the message was pretty clear.

Edward's lip curled into a vicious snarl.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Jacob continued. "So I kicked the crap out of the guy until he ran, tail between his legs." He frowned heavily. "And then I opened the door and find my princess with this freaking creep, all beaten up. What was I supposed to think?"

"I'm not your princess!" Beau exclaimed, exasperated. He shook his head, just too tired to think. "He didn't hurt me, Jacob. If anything, he stopped me from hurting myself. I don't do well in small spaces." He wanted to storm off, yelling about not being a damsel in distress, but he was too drained, physically and emotionally to even think about it. “How did you even beat him up, you’re like a foot shorter.”

“I went for his balls.” Jacob was completely unrepentant. "We have to... to report this, Beau, what if those fuckers try hurting you again—"

"Hey!" called a new voice. Beau and the others turned. It was a teacher. Of course it was a teacher. "What's going on here?"

...

He slumped over in his seat in the principal's office, head in his hands, elbows on his knees.

In the past hour, he'd had to explain everything that had happened at least two times to seven separate people. It was exhausting. And the worst part was that even  _still_  some of them didn't believe him.

He could hear them behind the door, arguing over him.

His dad had been called to the school the moment he'd stepped past the threshold, and if Beau thought Jacob had been bad about the bruises, he had another thing coming. Charlie was screaming his head off already, probably at the poor red-head secretary.

Beau couldn't bring himself to feel bad for them, unfortunately, not when he'd just been locked in a closet because of some homophobic jerkfaces.

It hadn't been the first time.

Well, it was the first time he'd been pushed and locked into a closet, he'll give them that. Points for originality.

Arizona wasn't the most accepting of places either. They'd had Millers just as bad, maybe even just as worse. And the teachers hadn't been the shiniest examples of tolerance either.

He looked up when the door creaked open. Dr. Franklin, the school principal, walked in alone, grey hair combed to perfection, snazzy suit cut in all the right places. Dr. Franklin was a gentleman, always polite and mild-mannered and very welcoming when Beau transferred to the school. But now he looked disheveled, forehead wrinkled with worry and he was fingering his tie, nervous.

He sat down gingerly at his desk, across from Beau.

"What's going on?" Beau asked.

Dr. Franklin hesitated. "Beau, you're not going to like what I have to say. Look, I believe you; so does your father. The chances you're lying are very slim. But the allegations you're making... they're very serious and these boys. They're all star pupils, they don't have a record. It would be much easier to prosecute them if they were caught in the act. But right now, it's your word, and Mr. Cullen's word against the claims of six other students."

Beau rubbed his eyes tiredly. "So you're saying there's no way they can be punished for they did? For what happened  to Edward, to me?"

Dr. Franklin shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no. That's not what I'm saying. According to Jacob Black, he caught one Tim Crawley standing outside the closet. He admitted to punching Crawley in... er, a rather sensitive area, and if we can get Crawley to confess there is a chance that we can get them an appropriate punishment. There are also surveillance cameras all over this campus. With any luck, the one in that hallway will be working and we'll be able to get the film. That's solid evidence right there."

Beau laughed. "Yeah, sure," he said bitterly.

Dr. Franklin frowned. "What do you mean, Beau?"

"You said it yourself," Beau muttered. "These kids are star pupils. Do you think they'd be cocky enough to ignore the fact that a camera was filming them?" He answered his own question. "No, they'll have taken the film. Or destroyed the camera."

Dr. Franklin set his mouth in a firm line. "I hope for your sake, Beau, that isn't true. If it comes down to it, I can lobby the parents to search through their things, but I doubt many will oblige. And I can't get so many search warrants, especially for minors. I really do believe it's best if we keep the investigation as quiet as possible."

Beau didn't, but he was thinking about how that would be impossible. His bruises were really bad. They would last maybe two weeks. And when he came back to school, everyone would know something was up.

Dr. Franklin looked at Beau, very seriously. "Beau, you have to listen very carefully to what I'm going to say. This is very important, do you understand?"

Beau searched Dr. Franklin's face. His old watery blue eyes were sterner than he'd ever seen them. He nodded.

Dr. Franklin continued, "Think very, very carefully before you tell anyone about what happened to you today, especially your school friends. If we can prove what you claim, these boys are facing charges of assault, most likely in an adult court. I do not want rumors running around the school naming names or pointing fingers. If you accuse so-and-so of hurting you without proof, they can accuse you of slander and it might draw unwanted attention. These kinds of incidents are very rarely a onetime thing. I want you to stay from those boys and away from anyone associated with them. In any case, I think the most pertinent course of action is to say as little possible and only to those whom you trust."

Beau nodded. "I understand, sir." And he honestly did. It sucked, but he did.

"Now, are you okay?"

Beau nodded. "I've got a lot of bruises, Nurse Mallory and the paramedics said they're deep skin. And my right ankle is sprained, so I can't run for a couple weeks. They took pictures, for documentation. They don't think I have a concussion, but I have an egg on the back of my head."

Dr. Franklin, the picture of grandfatherly concern, "If it's all the same to you, I would feel much better if you went to the hospital."

Beau frowned, but didn't protest and wondered if he actually had a choice. Either way, his dad would probably insist on him seeing Dr. Cullen. So if it eased old Dr. Franklin's worries, well, then it killed two birds with one stone.

So he relented.

"Okay. But do I have to ride in the ambulance?"

...

Yes, he did and it was nauseating. At least they didn't put the sirens on. That would've been humiliating  _and_  unnecessary. His dad rode with him in the ambulance and Edward followed behind in a police car, driven by his father's partner, while Jacob followed behind in his car.

It was nice hospital, all around and the doctor who took care of him was obviously Edward's father. Dr. Cullen was very handsome, very pale, like his children, with Rosalie's topaz eyes and Jasper's loosely waved blond hair. Beau wondered for a moment whether the rumor that Rosalie and Jasper were his niece and nephew had any truth to it. But, for the most part, the resemblance ended there. His smile was very bright, with a sharp, defined nose and slim lips and the same marble complexion as his children.

Beau marveled that the nurses here were able to work with such a specimen walking around.

Dr. Cullen was very kind as well, and thankfully, didn't ask Beau what had happened. "Hello, Beau, it's so great to finally meet you, although it's rather unfortunate we have to be introduced under these circumstances." The doctor shook Beau's hand quickly before reaching for his stethoscope. "Now let's check you over."

...

The hospital released Beau that afternoon, after prescribing him with some painkillers and anti-inflammatory medication for his bruises. It turned out that Beau's ankle was sprained, so they gave him a single crutch to use until it healed as well.

His father was quiet on the ride home, fists clenched around the wheel. When they pulled up outside the house, Charlie turned the key in the ignition, shutting it off, but didn't move to get out of the car, leaning back in his seat. He took in a deep breath, and turned to Beau. "I know you don't want me to—I know you're going to argue—but I'm going to have to tell your mother about this."

"No!" Beau was horrified. "She'll freak out, and then I might have to go home!"

That sounded harsher than it actually was.

It wasn't that Beau didn't want to see his mother, Rene--he loved her a lot and never resented her for any of the divorce crap. But she'd been taking care of him his entire life, always working, never stopping to take a look around, never resting. And now she was finally happy, with Phil.

"Dad, don't, she's busy. I don't want her to have to come up all the way to Forks because of me." He found himself pleading, twisting around in his seat to face his dad, better.

Charlie's face was very serious. "Beau, your health is her first priority, you should know that."

"I  _do_ know that," Beau sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "But this really the first time we've been away from each other, and if I have to take her away from her new life with Phil because of a twisted ankle--"

Charlie blinked. "Beau, this isn't just about you getting hurt," he interrupted. "This is about—about some teenage punks beating you, shoving you into a closet and fucking getting away with it!" His voice grew progressively louder as he spoke, anger darkening his face. "And I won't have your mother not knowing about it, not when her baby's been hurt and bashed and—"

"Dad," Beau interrupted. And he reached over and slid his arms around his father's wide waist, because this wasn't about his mom, not really. This was about his dad not being able to scare the nightmares away, not being able to protect his boy from the monsters of the world, not anymore.

Beau didn't let go until his dad responded, hugging him back and he ignored it when the shoulder his head was lying on started shaking. Crying.

"I'm okay, Daddy," he said, sadly. "I'm okay."

Charlie mumbled words of reassurance from a swollen throat, pressing a whiskery kiss to the top of his son's forehead.

"Thank God Edward was there," Beau felt murmured into his curls after a moment of a good old fashioned Swan hug. "God knows what those boys would've done to you if he hadn't—if there wasn't—"

"Shh," Beau grumbled. "Don't think about it." He pulled away to look at him. "It could've been worse, but it wasn't."

Charlie said nothing.

Beau patted his shoulder softly, before smiling, bright despite everything that had happened. "How about we just go inside and have a pizza night, yeah? Watch some B-rated action movies, the ones with guns and explosions and a plot a ten year old could follow."

Charlie nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Let's do that."

They got out of the car, leaning a little on each other as they went.

It would take a little bit more than a movie night to get over this, Beau knew, but as Charlie started waxing poetic about a pizza shop downtown, Beau knew they'd be okay.

...

His eyes dragged open.

He'd gone to bed rather early after having dinner with his dad in front of the television, body weighed down by the food baby he was slowly breaking down in his stomach, ankle only giving off weak little twinges once in a while. He'd been dead tired after the day he'd had. He'd drifted off into a pleasant food coma, the room strangely sweltering as he shed his clothes for a billowy sleep shirt, too lazy to cover his legs as he burrito'd himself in blankets.

But now, the room was cool, sweet, sweet air brushing through his sweaty bangs, and his eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the darkness.

He didn't know what made him move his leaden arm to flick on the light, but when he did, he found himself staring straight at Edward Cullen, his eyes black and inky, mouth open, expression  _hungry._

Beau's lips parted in response, in surprise, and he only broke his gaze for a moment, groping around for his glasses, stupidly wondering whether his father knew Cullen was here, but when he looked back, glasses now on his face...

Edward was just gone.

Beau flailed wildly out of bed, arms windmilling as he flopped onto the floor with a squawk.

"Edward?" he said, stunned, to the lamp, which only stared back at him judgmentally. "What the..."

He propped himself up on unsteady feet, the painkillers helping his ankle as he hobbled over to the open window—which hadn't been open before, had it? He paused as nippy air washed over him, hair prickling on bare legs, long fingers pressed against the windowpane.

"It's the drugs," he told himself. "They make you go all loopy. I'm seeing things. Yeah. Okay."

He glanced in the mirror—his hair was a rat's nest and his glasses were all lopsided, but he didn't look drugged. He didn't feel drugged either.

Maybe it was a dream?

He shivered, fingers and collarbones strangely icy as he reached out and closed the window, heard it click in its groove firmly before double-locking it.

He should talk with his dad tomorrow—he needed an alarm on his window, probably.

He climbed back into bed, legs and arms feeling out of place and strangely long as he rearranged himself in the still warm sheets, face half-shmushed into his pillow. He laid there, in his little nest of blankets, eyes open and thinking, for the rest of the night.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Esperaré by Celia Cruz (Translation: "I Will Wait")


	5. Come Fly Away With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a detective. And an Edward. Also, a cemetery.

They were all staring.

Beau could feel it.

Whispers behind their hands, flickering eyes over the livid bruises on his face and neck to his hands, where his fingertips were swollen and purple from trying to shred the closet door, to the very conspicuous crutch he was leaning him before going to his ankle, which was lumpy and swollen in the double layers of socks he'd stuffed it into that morning.

It had been two days since the incident. It was his first day back and already two minutes in Beau felt like melting quietly into nonexistence. The local news outlets hadn't used his name in reference to the incident, but it was pretty evident to everyone in Forks to who the "victimized gay teen" was.

He fumbled at his locker, fingers stubbornly clumsy and altogether useless, shoulders stiff as he heard Lauren, a girl from his trig class, laughing loudly in the corner.

"The fag's a cripple now..." she giggled crudely and Beau thought violent, stabby thoughts in her general direction.

He sighed, trying to open his locker and failing three times before a shadow, strangely Cullen shaped, draped itself across his personal space and Lauren and her girlfriends and everyone in the hallway fell silent.

He looked up.

Sure enough.

"Hi, Edward," he mumbled, lowering his head so his bangs bounced into his eyes.

"Hi." Edward waved awkwardly, even though they were standing a foot apart. "Um. Do you need help?"

Beau blinked before he realized he was talking about his locker. "Oh." He moved back obligingly and watched as Edward deftly twisted the lock and clicked it open. "Thanks," he said before wondering aloud, "How did you know my combination?"

Edward shrugged. "You've been trying for a while. I just noticed the numbers."

"Well, you're observant," Beau said dryly as he wriggled his backpack off of his arm and began putting away his books for classes, slower than he usually went.

Edward paused, head tilted. "Which classes?" he asked.

"Oh. Trig and AP U.S. History first, I guess," Beau answered, blinking in surprise as the other boy picked out his binders and textbooks from the top shelf. He shoved in the rest of Beau's things with quiet efficiency and looked to Beau for his assent before shutting the door.

They started walking down the hallway towards math. Beau thought that was pretty nice of Edward, because they weren't in the same class. But every time they rounded the corner, heads turned and conversation stopped, eyes staring.

"Do they all know what happened?" Beau side-glanced at Edward.

Edward shrugged. "I don't believe so—it's mostly rumors, more than anything. I think they heard that you and I were involved in a fight of some kind with Miller." The side of his mouth quirked upwards. "It doesn't help that Miller and his cronies have all been temporarily suspended. Only In-School Suspension, because there isn't enough evidence, but since Crawley confessed, there isn't much they can complain about."

"Well thank god for that, I'd _hate_ for Miller to feel unjustly treated." Beau snarked, but he was secretly relieved that he wouldn't have to face anyone who stuffed him into a closet, at least today.

Edward hummed his agreement. Beau glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and then took a double take. There was a soft, slight up-turn to Edward's lips, and he looked very relaxed, moreso than Beau had seen him before. He looked content. The longer Beau and Edward walked on, the more awestruck Beau became. Edward had never seemed so simply content before.

He narrowed his eyes at Edward, and stopped dead in his tracks, so that Edward turned to look at him, a question in his eyes.

"Okay, mister, spit it out, what's put you in such a great mood?" Beau waved his crutch at him accusingly. "Did you put a stinkbomb in my locker or a piñata? I need to know now, I'm allergic to papier mache."

Beau tried to put his most serious face on, but couldn't help letting one side of his mouth quirk.

Edward's eyes widened with surprise before he broke out in a surprisingly mischievous grin. "No, I didn't put a stinkbomb or a piñata in your locker, but thanks for the idea. If you must know, I'm happy because I finally have an excuse to carry your books for you."

That wasn't the answer Beau was expecting. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Two things. Number one, mostly it's because your clumsiness makes it painful for me to watch you dropping your poor books around every corner."

Beau made a face. They were in front of Beau's math class now, and Beau wanted to finish their conversation, but just then the early warning bell rang and Beau knew that Edward's first class was across the campus in a different building. Edward handed over Beau's books with what looked like reluctance when Beau reached out a hand for them.

"I'll see you around then, Beau." Edward nodded and then moved to leave.

"Whoa, wait!" Beau grabbed onto Edward's arm to stop him from going and Edward whipped back around at such a speed that Beau jumped as flecked amber eyes locked onto his. They were really close, really bright, faceted like a jewel and blinding him with how intense they seemed.

"Yes, Beau?"

"Uh—um, I was going to ask—What's number two?" Beau's tongue fumbled.

Edward shifted his weight back, sheepish, as his eyes flicked away from Beau's. Beau's hand fell away from Edward's arm and he suddenly loathed the space between them.

Edward scratched at his neck and smiled embarrassedly at anything but Beau, before clearing his throat. "Never mind, it was silly..."  
"Tell me." Beau cocked his head to the side.

Edward finally looked up at him and fluttered his eyes bashfully. "Number two, is... well, because I wanted to spend time with you Beau. That is, if that's all right with you?"

Beau blinked, surprised. Edward, as handsome and as intelligent as he was, sometimes came off as cold. Aloof. Beau hadn't thought Edward did things like spend time with people other than his family.

“Beau?"

Right. He hadn't told Prince Charming if he wanted to dance yet.

"Uh..." He shifted, blinking. "I guess, I mean, sure. Why not?" He laughed at himself, shaking his head.

This was not going to help his crush at all, was it?

Edward smiled. He really smiled. Teeth and everything. It would be almost terrifying if it wasn't also painfully adorable and heart wrenching. Beau couldn't help but smile back, suddenly shy.

"Wait for me after class?" Edward's voice tilted up hopefully at the end.

"Sure. Fine. Wonderfully fine," Beau grinned.

Edward backed away, shouldering his own backpack.

"See you later then, Beau.”

It turned out that Beau didn't have to wait for Edward after class after all.

Because Edward was already lurking very creepily behind the open door.

After every single one of Beau's classes, always with that infuriating smirk on his pretty boy mouth, ready to swoop in like an over-rated film hero and carry Beau's books.

In every school Beau had ever gone to, he'd always been that person who was the last one out of the classroom. He'd been jealous of those super-humans who showed up first to every period, rain or shine, snow or traffic-clogged hallways. But he had to admit, Edward's punctuality, scary as it might be, was useful. Now that Beau didn't have a ridiculous amount of books bogging him down in the corridors, he didn't have to worry about taking anyone's eye out with a flailing elbow or flying writing utensil. And he didn't have to think about being late, now that he had a guide well versed in navigating the rocky seas of Forks High School.

He almost didn't notice the bug-eyed stares they got wherever they went on campus, short shrimpy Beau a sharp contrast to topaz-eyed, tall, built Edward. He was too busy talking and running his mouth about movies and comic books and novels to Edward, who apparently was a bibliophile with an in-depth knowledge of classic literature, but a deep-seated lack of interest in anything created in the early to current 21st century, Jesus Christ.

And pop-culture? Forget about it.

Harry Potter? Pfftt.

Ariana Grande? "A type of latte?"

Iron Man? Fssshhh.

Lady Gaga? "Is that a disease?"

Game of Thrones? No.

Benedict Cumberbatch?

"Cumber-what?" Edward asked incredulously.

Beau's only response was an inconsolable moan.

"Ohmygod, we are marathoning Netflix," Beau said firmly, latching onto Edward's arm as though he was a man on his deathbed and Beau was his only hope of salvation. "Pizza and Netflix, okay? Okay." He nodded to himself. "It's not too late, Beau, his soul can still be saved."

Beau didn't even bother translating Edward's complicated eyebrow dance. "Somehow, I doubt that," Edward said dryly.

...

It was nice while it lasted.

Everything came tumbling down during lunch.

Of freaking course.

Jessica ambushed him just as he had sucked a mouthful of Mordor-hot cocoa onto his tongue.

"So are you and Edward dating?"

After he'd finished swallowing _the burning fires of hell,_ he spluttered, " _What_." His eyes were still streaming, because _owowowow_. His tongue tingled, the tip burnt and searing.

Before Jessica got a chance to reply, Edward thunked his metal tray down on the table next to Beau. _This is a surprise_ , Beau blinked at Jessica. According to Forks High lore, the Cullens never sat with anyone outside of their familial unit. This was an anomaly.

Jessica voiced her concern back to him in a series of blinks.

"What's going on?" Edward ventured.

"What?" Beau very carefully set his Styrofoam cup down, surface still steaming. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He narrowed a look at the other boy. "We certainly weren't discussing the very weird idea that you and me were anything other than platonic friends, were we, Jessica?"

Jess, for once, stayed silent on the issue.

Edward smirked. "I was wondering when that would start." His self-satisfied smile widened a little bit when he saw Beau's unimpressed expression. "How are you, Beau, my love—?"

Beau very calmly raised his boiling drink and aimed.

Edward cut himself off. "Okay, okay." The Cullen sat back before nudging his untouched food towards Beau. "You eat it, I'm not very hungry. I had a pretty big breakfast—besides, I dread to think about what could happen if you got on the lunch line with those crutches."

Said crutches leaned innocently against Beau's chair, just waiting to poke someone's eye out.

He glanced at the proffered tray, looking over the fluffy biscuit and roasted chicken, a little bowl of Jell-O sitting out next to his milk carton. He side-eyed Edward.

He didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

Beau wondered whether he was supposed to be concerned or not. Edward normally wasn't this outspoken at all. Beau had gotten used to the quiet, shy-guy Edward. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on with this new and improved, teasing, twinkle-in-his-eye Edward.

He glanced at the Cullen table. Judging by the way Rosalie was trying to send him to the lower circle of hell with the force of her will alone, he guessed that the concern was warranted.

"Something wrong?" Edward probed, expression pointed.

"No," Beau squeaked, having been caught looking.

"Everything's fine," Jessica echoed robotically.

"What's going on?" Eric's head of floppy hair appeared along with Tyler's cornrows and Mike's shaggy dog locks. "Why is Cullen sitting with us?"

"Wait," frowned Tyler, forehead wrinkling. "Are you two actually dating?"

"Yes, we're desperately in love," Cullen deadpanned.

Mike roared with laughter as Beau covered his face, unwilling to watch this train wreck.

The laughter died down. "Wait—is he joking?"

"I dunno, man, he seems pretty serious." Tyler was a terror.

Beau refused to react in any other way other than go burning red as he felt Edward drape a cool arm over his shoulders. "I thought everybody knew," the asshole was gasping, like an offended dame from those starlet films from the 1940s. "Darling, did you not tell them? Are you ashamed of me?"

"Come off it, you conceited, snotty, son of a—" Beau batted his arm away, frowning as the rest of his so-called 'friends' cracked up. Except Jessica. She was still frowning, brow lined and unhappy.

At least Beau had Jessica, still.

Tyler sat down across from him, the traitor, still grinning, teeth bright white. His mom had packed him a lunch and as he unpacked his sandwich and soda he asked "So, what the hell happened, man?" He glanced at Beau's crutches and the heavy bruise on his left cheek.

Beau waved the inquiry away. "Some assholes jumped me, it doesn't matter."

Tyler frowned. "Dude, they beat you pretty bad. They could, like, be charged with assault or excessive battery."

"It's not that bad." Beau shook his head.

"And you only get charged with excessive battery if you nearly kill someone," Angela piped up helpfully.

Jessica's jaw tightened. "Maybe we should talk about something else." It wasn't a question.

Tyler ignored her. "Who did it?" he asked, munching on a bag of chips. "I mean, it's kinda obvious, but still, I think we'd all like to hear it come from you."

Eric and Angela nodded fervently, but Jessica was just looking at her salad like it'd stabbed her mother.

Edward's expression darkened as she bit viciously into a carrot.

Mike frowned. "Dude, you're my friend. If someone threatened you, I wanna know who they are."

"It was Miller, okay?" Beau huffed. "Miller and a couple of his friends from the football team, I dunno their names, and I don't want to know, alright? I just want this whole mess to blow over. Just because some homophobic bastards—"

There was the sharp clank of Jessica slamming her fork onto the table and Angela jumped.

Jess blinked, looking up, eyes shooting from one face to another, landing on Beau, who was frowning, confused, and she didn't say anything, just shook her head quickly and stood up.

"I—" She stopped and turned on her heel, almost running, before slamming open the cafeteria doors and storming out, not mad, but she didn't look particularly happy either.

Edward's upper lip lifted in a snarl.

"What happened?" asked Mike, bewildered, and he stood up.

Tyler grabbed his arm. "Dude, no," he said, pulling Mike back down onto his seat. He pursed his lips and frowned at Beau apologetically. "Adam's been her friend since first grade. I think it just threw her off, you talking about him that way. Shit, I know it's not my place, I'm sorry, man."

"Adam?" Beau frowned, connecting the dots. "Miller?"

"Yeah." Tyler scowled at the doors. "Look, I'm not saying she's gonna drop you or anything, but she's definitely not sunshine and rainbows at the moment. Especially when you just called Miller a homophobic bastard. Which I'm not saying he isn't. Jess just has issues, okay? She'll come around."

Edward said nothing, but the expression on his face was plain out scornful.

"Wait for her to cool down," Angela added. "I'm sure she'll apologize tomorrow."

...

Driving with a sprained ankle—not only tricky, but also possibly lethal.

Beau grimly hobbled with all the countenance of a death row inmate over to Jacob's bulky dark van with beat up fenders and huge tires, already weighed down with books and his bag. The other kids who were leaving obviously didn't have any reservations about staring.

Jacob getting out of the van didn't help much either.

He vaulted nimbly onto the icy pavement, grabbing Beau's books with a cheery "Hey, Princess," before opening up the passenger door to further Beau's discomfort.

Beau glanced back at the school. Edward's silvery Volvo had just pulled out of its parking lot, his brother's fire-hydrant red Ferrari not far behind. But they didn't leave before Beau glimpsed Rosalie Hale's scowling face through the slightly tinted windows, her lipsticked mouth tilted downward in fury.

Beau turned back to Jacob, who cheerfully helped him into the passenger seat.

"Things'll be better tomorrow," Jacob said as he started up the van, patting his big paw comfortingly on Beau's comparably skinny knee. "You'll see."

...

Jacob lied.

The temperature had jumped overnight, suddenly-warm air hovering and buzzing with the thick, humid clouds shrouding the sky as always.

It was only upon approaching the school in Jacob's truck, Beau immediately realized that something was up when he saw the cop car sitting inconspicuously in front of the main office. His first thought was that his father had finally cracked and come to pick him up and put him on the first flight to Jackson (it wouldn't be surprising considering just how well his mom had taken the news. She had wanted him home immediately, and it was only because Beau insisted that despite the incident he was quite happy in Forks that she had allowed him to stay).

Walking towards the main building, Beau realized that it wasn't a car from his father's station, no, this was a state vehicle and Beau stiffened irrationally, fingers tightening around his crutch.

The man in front of the car was tall, real tall, with big shoulders and dark eyes and Beau averted his gaze to the building, bowing his head so he wouldn't have to make eye contact.

He crossed into the lobby, where he was stopped by the morning security guard, Andy.

"Dr. Franklin wants to see you, Beau," she said, sympathetically, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her uniform.

Beau blinked, glancing over his shoulder out the window. The police car was still there, and so was the man. "Okay." He readjusted his bag before beginning to hobble down the hallway, grip on his crutch tightening. Dr. Franklin's office wasn't all that far from his locker, so if it was just a quick checkup on the poor victimized student, then he could still be early for Trig.

Franklin's harried secretary quickly gestured him to the office, tapping nosily on her keyboard, phone hooked underneath her chin. Beau nodded at her before going into the little hallway that separated the main office to Dr. Franklin's private room.

He rapped quickly on the door, blinking when on the second knock the door was opened by an older man, his hair salt-and-pepper, dark beard flecked with silver. He was tall, and thick with muscle and Beau found himself being intimidated already with the way the officer's eyes slid over him—and it was an officer, with the way he held himself, dress shirt pressed and neat, shoes polished to a point, gun holster hidden underneath his jacket, but the lump gave him away.

"Um, hey? I'm here to see Doc Franklin, I think it's important—"

"Are you Beauregard Swan?" the man interrupted, voice deep and rumbly. He was handsome in a grizzled way, eyes ice-blue and slipping down Beau's vivid bruises and scratches until they came to his crutch and sprained foot.

"Er, yeah, call me Beau. What's going on?" He craned his neck around the officer, getting a glimpse of soft-middled Franklin sitting meekly at his desk, capable shoulders hunched.

"Sit down, Beau, don't worry," Franklin said, dabbing at his forehead nervously. "We have some good news for you. Oh, this is Detective Bradstreet. Detective, this is Beau, as you already know."

Beau sat, sliding his crutch underneath the mostly uncomfortable seat, and placing his bag on his lap. "What's this about?" He couldn't stop himself from glancing at the detective, confused.

"We found the tape," Bradstreet said bluntly and Franklin glared at him, disgruntled.

"The—the tape?" Oh, shit. So that meant that... Okay. So... "Where did you find it?"

"No matter what Adam Miller wanted you to believe, he's no criminal mastermind." Bradstreet's voice was quite dry. "One of his teammates had it shoved in the back of his locker, covered by a pile of Chemistry homework."

Beau blinked. "Wow." He pushed up his glasses, taking a breath, thinking. "So this means you have probable cause to... to punish them, right? So they won't do it to anyone else?"

Bradstreet cast him a discreet look. "It's a pretty straight forward assault case. You'd win in about twenty minutes if you were willing to sue in a civil court. You could also go through the D.A. office if you wanted, put them in juvy for a few weeks."

Beau blinked—he... he hadn't thought about it in that way. Suing them. Putting those boys in jail. Did he want that?

What did he want to do about this?

Bradstreet sighed, probably seeing the conflict written all over Beau’s face. "Look, kid, there are a lot of ways you could go about this. Why don't you just go to class for now, and then when you get home, talk with your dad about what you think is the best course of action. You could always just let the school handle it if you just wanna wash your hands clean of the whole thing." He nodded at both Beau and Franklin. "I'll be in touch. If you need me, here's my number." He handed Beau a card, a little square of crisp white paper with a neatly printed phone number and work address. "Don't hesitate to call."

He left without another word, but he did glance back, just once, to nod at Beau sympathetically.

Beau gathered his things in a bit of a daze, muttering a half-hearted goodbye to the principal before walking out of the main office and into the locker halls, fingers grasping tightly at his crutch like a child would a safety blanket.

The thing was: Beau didn't particularly hate Miller or Crawley or the Hulk or any of the assholes who decided they should stuff a gay boy in a locker. He was disgusted by them and the fact that they actually managed to touch him grossed him out beyond all mention. But he wasn't angry at them. He just wanted them to leave him alone.

Say he decided he wanted to sue. Say he decided he wanted the D.A. to put them in juvenile hall. What would that solve? They'd just get madder, stewing in their self-righteous piss-and-shit and eventually, once they got out of kiddie jail or their parents stopped watching their every move, they'd decide the little queer was asking for another fight, another beating. Then, they'd come after him, hurt him worse, and the whole shitty situation would just start all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat, only diarrhea style.

They were the worst kind of teenagers, the angry, messed up kind, and it wasn't even all of them, not really, it was just Miller. Miller, who'd probably been spoon-fed hatred and poison since the day he was born—then again, Beau didn't really know Miller. He didn't _want_ to know Miller.

He just wanted them to stop. To stop harassing him, to stop stupidly toddling after some asshole who had a God complex the size of Mississippi.

He was in front of his locker, not quite sure how he got there; he must've just wandered off on autopilot, he was so stuck in his thoughts. He sighed, fingers still just a bit too swollen to really utilize them the way he needed to in order to flip the lock open, so he just banged his forehead against the locker in silent suffering.

He didn't want to go to Trig, he had too many whirling thoughts, mudding up his brain, and he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate, even if he wanted to.

And he definitely didn't want to.

So when Edward tapped him on the shoulder, asking him whether or not he needed help opening his locker, Beau turned, not without effort and the help of his crutch, looked up and said "No, actually. Do you have a test or a project or anything important today?"

Edward frowned, tilting his head. "Uh, no, why?"

Beau scrunched up his nose, thinking. "You wanna skip class with me, today?"

...

Edward drove like he was trying to kill someone; or himself. His foot was pressed hard against the pedal, his posture relaxed, one hand wresting leisurely on the wheel, the other hanging out the open window, the rush of partially warm air blasting hard through Beau's curls and Edward's otherwise perfect locks.

Beau loved it. The rush of hard wind in his lungs, the pressure of it making his eyes stream, the weird alternative music Edward's stereos were blaring, the way his laughter got lost at the speed they were going, trailing behind them like cookie crumbs, the amusement in Edward's golden eyes.

Beau threw his arms behind his head, tilting his neck so he could close his eyes and pretend he was flying. They sped on empty stretches of road, the Volvo's engine barely more than a soft hum underneath them and it felt like they were gliding.

"How did you guys afford something like this?" he yelled over the music. "This is crazy!"

Edward laughed. "Our father likes spoiling us—his wife, Esme's, worse! She bought Rosalie a Tesla!"

"You're kidding," Beau blurted. Even Beau, hopeless case that he was, knew how exorbitantly expensive those things were. They could run up to 200k, easily. "Your dad's nice! He's the one who bandaged my foot!" He kicked up his leg for emphasis and Edward shot him a look.

"Take it easy," Edward said, slowing down, just a smidge, for a left-hand turn. "I don't want to reintroduce you two anytime soon."

Beau snorted, taking it as a joke. He glanced out the window, seeing the greenery fly by. But then he saw it, in the up-coming bright yard of land, dotted with stones and thick dirt paths, surrounded by polished wrought iron gates. A chill spilled down the knobs of his spine, spreading to his ribs.

"Wait, can we stop here?" He threw out his arm, fingers grasping Edward's shoulder without conscious thought. He didn't catch Edward's inquiring look. "My grandpa's buried here. I want... I wanna pay my respects, if that's okay?" His voice went up in pitch at the end, making the statement a question, and his gaze swiveled, catching Edward's. "Please?"

Edward silently pulled over, expertly going from 70 miles per hour to 10 in record time. Beau didn't hesitate to pop the door open, but Edward was fast, already outside and handing Beau his crutch with a gentlemanly smile gone suddenly strained with a sudden up-tick of the wind. Beau ignored it. Edward had weird mood swings, sometimes.

As far as cemeteries went, this one was rather pleasant. Carefully tended patches of flowers outside of the gates were beginning to blossom. Crocuses peaked out tentatively from patches of melting snow, drops of vivid purple bright among dirty snow and pristine white petals. The paths, from what Beau could see, were all neat, weeds kept at bay nicely, some cobbled stone, others just ways made from carefully padded gravel.

Every gravestone was unique—some were sandstone, some glittering obsidian, others just neat concrete gray. It was nice, to see so many people honored that way. Beau had once been to a military funeral, in a veterans' graveyard. All of the rows and rows of identical gravestones had unsettled him. He got the idea—they were all equal in death, they had all served their country. But somehow, this little mismatched cemetery was more welcoming, was more human in its imperfections.

There was a cute little flower stand a few feet to the right of the entrance, bright sunflowers and pretty tulips carefully crafted into bouquets for the deceased. They were tended to by a young woman in a blue pea-coat, who smiled at them genially as they approached.

"Good morning," she chirruped. "Getting warmer, isn't it?"

Beau nodded and exchanged greetings before asking after the price of a daisy—he didn't have enough money for a bouquet.

Edward bent his head, asking quietly as he gestured, "What about that one?" It was a nice bunch, thick white carnations and some dark orange tulips, but Beau just wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"Grandpa wasn't exactly a fan of flowers," Beau explained as he handed over some quarters for the flower. "He'll be rolling in the grave as it is, let's not make it worse. He did have a weakness for daisies, though, mostly because that was his nickname for my grandma."

Edward smiled quietly as they walked into the charming little cemetery, side by side, and Beau caught it in his periphery vision, fleeting but still precious. Beau found that the softest, quietest smiles were the most valuable, were the things you could carry with you on your shoulder without even noticing.

"What was your grandma's name?" Edward asked as Beau snooped around the gravestones, searching for his grandpa.

"Hmmm. Oh, she's still alive, don't worry. Her name's Alaqua." He stopped at a pretty little stone, dark, carved with _Peter Swan, loving father, husband and grandfather_ in neat, slanted script. "This is him.” There was a short pause. “Grandpa, this is Edward. Edward, this is my Grandpa. You can call him Mr. Swan." Beau was smiling, before bending down to place the little daisy on the wet patch of grass before the tombstone.

"Hello," said Edward, just as awkwardly as when he met Beau for the first time. "Mr. Swan," he tacked on belatedly, wincing.

Beau couldn't help but smile before poking him in the arm. "Very smooth, Ed, very smooth."

Edward rolled his eyes, but they twinkled as they rolled, so Beau gave himself a pat on the back.

"Alaqua," Edward sounded out slowly, like he was testing a new language. "Is that... Is that...?"

"Quileute, yeah." Beau placed his hand fondly on his grandfather's stone. "I know, I don't look very Quileute, right? It's just my grandma who's fully blooded; I'm just a quarter through her. My dad moved off the Rez when I was nine. To be far, he doesn't look Quileute either, but he looks exactly like my grandpa did when he was younger." He made a face. "Grandma says I look like her sister, only whiter and maler. She can be mean sometimes."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean 'paler and maler'?"

"You know, I think I liked you better when you didn't have a sense of humor,” Beau said meanly.

Edward just smiled mischievously, watching fondly as Beau plopped down onto the admittedly wet ground, nestling up against his grandpa’s headstone.

"She's a good grandma, though." He looked quietly at his hands, fingers laced together in his lap. "Makes the best lemonade, even if it's the middle of winter. They call her Mama Swan or Grandma Swan, if they're my age. Some of the kids..." He laughed, pushing up his glasses. "They think she's a witch, 'cause she's the oldest woman on the Rez."

"Is she?" The older teen was looking at Beau quietly, his leather-gloved hands clenched again. “A witch, that is?”

"Hmm? ‘Course not. She's good with medicinal herbs and sick-soups and stuff like that, but it's all just traditional." Beau blew a gust of wind at a stray curl in his eyes. "The pregnant girls like going to her for vitamins and good luck charms, sometimes. She's more a figurehead than anything."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman." Ed shifted from foot to foot, considering before he reached out a hand. "C'mon, Beau, you're gonna ruin your pants if you keep that up. There's a perfectly good bench right over there." He pointed across the road they were up against, diagonal to the grave Beau was sitting on—it was a nicely carved thing, made of marble or something else white and smooth, nestled underneath a dark-bark tree with long branches and budding leaves.

Beau took Ed's hand and allowed him to pull him to his full five feet, four inches before they moved over to the little alcove, hidden away from the rest of the world. It was just so quiet here. He strained his ears—not even a birdsong on the wind. Just the crunch of their footsteps on scattered gravel and the occasional snap of a tree branch underfoot. They could've been the last people on Earth, if not for the flower vendor three paths down.

They sat heavily, leaning on each other because the bench didn't have a back. Ed's shoulder wasn't exactly warm, but it was firm and Beau couldn't help but rest his head on it, suddenly tired.

"If you were gay," he suddenly started, "and a gang of boys had hurt you and humiliated you and put you in a closet because they thought you were lesser and a freak and just undeserving of being yourself, and you could put them in jail, or sue them for cash, what would you do?" He felt Edward's heavy sigh more than he heard it.

"I..." Edward stopped. An arm wrapped itself comfortingly around Beau's shoulder, almost tentative, but Beau didn't knock it off and so it stayed. Beau waited. "It depends on... There's no good answer for that question, Beau, but it depends on whether or not you think they deserve going to jail or being sued, or whatever. Do you... do you think you can stand in front of judge for maybe three hours a day for a week and say in front of a judge and a jury what they did to you, over and over again? Do you think you could handle having another lawyer belittle you and try and discredit you and insult you and imply things about you that will make you scream inside? Do you think it's worth it?"

Beau was silent. A brown morning dove fluttered down from a tree branch and settled on the path in front of them, pecking through the gravel for bugs.

Edward sighed. "Whatever you want to do, you know your dad will support you wholeheartedly. He loves you, and wants to protect you more than anything and he'll gladly go after those... those..." Edward seemed too angry to find a right word.

"A-holes?" Beau offered.

"Yeah," Ed deflated. "He would gladly go after them in court, you know that. It depends on you."

Beau said quietly, "I just don't want them to do it again."

Edward's lip lifted in a silent snarl that was no less intimidating. "I won't let them, Beau. Do you understand that? I will never let them touch you again." His voice wasn't gravelly or rough or anything remotely animalistic, but somehow those words just sounded so guttural, coming from clean-cut, polite, shy Edward.

Beau didn't doubt Edward's seriousness on the matter, but even he knew that Edward wouldn't be able to protect him. Look at what happened when he'd tried the last time.

"Edward," he said softly, "You're not a superhero. You can't just banish bullies with a thought or throw bad guys ten feet into the air. As much as I appreciate it, you shouldn't put yourself out there for me like that. Your sister already hates me—I don't want her to kill me because I got her brother... I got her brother..."

He couldn't finish the sentence, sniffing quietly, eyes pricking and watering almost immediately. It wasn't that he was particularly upset or anything, it was just that the last few weeks had been so turbulent that there had been times he'd nearly had panic attacks thinking about what had almost happened to him and Edward at the hands of _teenagers_.

Edward gently rubbed his side consolingly, shushing him until the little episode had passed.

"Sorry," Beau muttered. He stared at the dove, still pecking around on the ground near his grandfather's gravestone, and willed the tears away.

"I get it, Beau, you're dealing with situations you shouldn't have to." Edward manhandled him into standing, already striding down the path. "Let's just go and do something else, something fun. Something... to get your mind off things."

Beau blinked, his bangs flopping into his eyes as he tilted his head. "Alright."

They walked slowly back to the car, but it wasn't until they separated so Beau could go in the passenger that Beau realized they had been holding hands.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Come Fly Away With Me by Frank Sinatra.


	6. The Nearness of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau escapes. There is a play date. Charlie has a mental-breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, we’ve been extremely busy lately with school, but we hope this extra long chapter may make up for it.   
> In other news we hope to return to our weekly schedule in June.

The movie theater wasn't too small—being the only one in the area, it had to have enough rooms to show all of the major releases at once, but it was quaint in appearance, with a cinema-style marquee over the wide glass doors, gold paint peeling off the ticket booths on either side of the outside entrance, and ancient red carpet throughout the concession stand area and on the front sidewalk under the awnings.

All in all, it was a bit cliché.

The left-hand corner of the theatre was empty, so they plopped down into the cleanest seats they could find (most of them had dried butter on the cushion or smelled overwhelmingly of spilled Kool Aid). The movie definitely wasn't Oscar winning material, but it was a good enough to maintain enough interest that Beau became invested in the storyline.

Edward could've been asleep for all he was paying attention. He kept glancing at Beau and fidgeting so that Beau found himself getting distracted by the movements until he finally gave up.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"What? Oh, no, sorry." Edward seemed flustered at being caught, and if there was any light in the gallery Beau was sure he would have seen a blush grow on those marble cheeks.

"Okay then." Beau smiled to himself quietly and resolved to leave Edward alone. He didn't want to push him, and to be honest Beau was nervous too. He knew it wasn't really, but all the same it still felt remarkably like a date; the darkened lights, the movie, the way they were alone together, comfortable and yet nervous.

That was a really scary thought, though, so Beau just turned back to the screen where...  _Oh, you're kidding me. They're kissing already? You don't have time to make-out, the world is literally about to explode!_

Beau chomped on his popcorn, disgruntled, watching as somehow the generically handsome white actor managed to somehow contact his genius sidekick and shut down the atomic bomb a few seconds before the ticker finished.

Beau sighed as the credits rolled, sipping water to wash out the salt hiding behind his teeth before standing up, stretching leisurely, his t-shirt rolling up onto his hip bones.

"You wanna head out?" he asked Edward, turning, smiling as he grabbed his coat.

Edward blinked, eyes bright in the dark of the room, like a cat. "We could stop at my house," he suggested, gripping the arms of his seat tightly. "My parents are out of town for the weekend—they're networking upstate."

"Ooh." Beau smirked good-naturedly. "Edward Cullen: rebel teen gone wild." And then, seriously, "Sure, why not?" He grabbed his crutch to walk—which,  _ugh._  He couldn't wait until he could actually put weight on his foot.

Edward, Beau had already figured out, was a complete and utter gentleman. He opened doors, he slid out seats, he let Beau go first, he said please and thank you, tipped generously, was exceedingly polite to his elders, and Beau bet with all his heart that young children would  _love_  Edward, the complete pushover that he was.

Edward grabbed his other crutch and handed it to him before picking up their trash and the bucket of almost-finished popcorn and moving aside so Beau could exit the aisle in front of him, just proving Beau's point. Beau couldn't help but shake his head fondly, graciously waiting at the threshold of the theatre, because Edward  _insisted_  on holding the door for everyone in the building, plus Greg the maintenance man.

It was all very heartwarming.

Beau pounded on his chest to make sure it wasn't indigestion. Nope, those were butterflies, yep, got it.

They dragged their feet as they headed into the parking lot, discussing the major plot points and failings of the movie as they left, and basically just agreed that it was utter shit.

"God, I haven't seen a pic as bad as that in ages." Beau tilted his head back, eyes squinting at the blinding haze. "It was like every bad Mission Impossible movie I've ever seen smushed together with flashy visuals and some mediocre CGI."

Edward made that humming noise that meant he'd completely lost all understanding of the current conversation.

"Mission Impossible?" Beau probed futilely. "Big explosions, car chases, creeping in vents, really sexy Tom Cruise?"

Edward shook his head, smiling that hopeless smile that made the bottom of Beau's stomach go 'whoosh'.

Beau couldn't help the incredulous expression on his face, he just couldn't. "You're a real piece of work, you know that, Ed?"

Said Ed raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He swerved to avoid what could've been a week-old hamburger or a squashed rodent sitting out on the pavement. "How so?"

"I... I don't know how to explain it." Beau tapped his crutch along the asphalt in thought. "You don't read books from the 21st century, you don't like movies, you've never heard of musicians a  _hermit_  would know about. Do you not have TV? Do you not have internet?"

"Some people just aren't pop-culture savvy, Beau, it's not that strange." They'd reached Ed's Volvo, the doors easily unlocking with a flash of silvery keys.

"But it's not just that, now, is it?" The car smelled inexplicably like flowers for some reason as Beau climbed into the passenger seat, making a face at Edward whenever he tried to help him do something an infant could accomplish.

As Edward popped open the driver's door and started up the engine, Beau couldn't help but ask, “Didn't your Dad ever share with you the things he liked as a kid?” He propped up his chin with his hand, leaning on the little semi-table that separated them. “Movies he liked as a teenager, or music he found as an adult?"

Ed shrugged, eyes fixed on the road as he made a tight turn out of the parking lot. “Me and Carlisle... we're close, but we're not that close. I came into his house pretty mature for a teenager and I didn't so much get a father as I got a guardian.”

Beau tilted his head. It felt like a touchy subject, but Beau had been known to push down hard on pressure points he probably should've left alone. “When did he adopt you?”

“I was thirteen,” Edward said automatically. “We used to live in San Francisco, before everything happened.”

Beau tilted his head, silently saying ‘go on’.

Edward smiled, not in pain. “My mom—her name was Sarah. We didn't really have any family. There was a cousin in Georgia, I think, but that was about it, unless we started looking in England. Then I got sick. I don't remember most of it, to be honest; it was a bad strain of the flu, God knows how I got it, and I was feverish for at least two weeks before we went to the hospital. We were poor; no healthcare, so it was only when my mother started fading that this old lady in our apartment building called for an ambulance. Carlisle was our doctor. It was too late for my mom.” Edward slowed the car as he came across a red light.

“That's... That's horrible.” Beau didn’t know what else to say.

Edward shrugged. “I wasn't there when she died. I was asleep. Carlisle said she begged him to take me. Esme always wanted kids.” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “I know what they say about her in school—wondering whether or not she's barren, can't have kids or not.”

Beau frowned, indignation making his blood heat. “Why should they even care? It’s none of their business.”

“I don't know; it's stupid.” Edward shook his head. “Anyways, Esme just had a heart of gold about the whole thing, so Carlisle agreed and before the funeral, they sat me down and asked me. There was a lot of paperwork, some social workers came by to speak with me about things, and, I don't know, here I am. Edward Cullen. It used to be Masen, but things change.” He turned the wheel.

“Edward Masen.” Beau shook his head. It didn't taste right. “Cullen sounds more you.”

Edward smiled, wryly. “Does it?”

Beau grinned, tracing Edward's profile very carefully, unabashed now that Ed wasn't looking. “Yeah, it does. With your first name? It’s cool; old-fashioned, very European. You don't find many people with that name anymore.” He rolled down the window as he talked, letting fresh air rush into the car, washing over his too-warm skin. “Like, it's always Eddy and Ed and Teddy and stuff like that, but never  _Edward_.”

Said Edward took another right. By now, they weren't so much on a road as they were on a nearly overgrown dirt path heading into the tangled up trees nestled near the edge of town. The car hummed prettily, gliding over pavement. They didn't talk for a while, the silence soft and comfortable, but it wasn't long before Beau started fidgeting with his seatbelt for lack of anything to do. He fiddled gently with the radio just to fill the quiet with  _something._  He skipped around for a bit before settling on a station crooning an old murder ballad, lowering the volume so much that he had to strain his ears to hear the sickly-sweet lyrics.

“Did you ever have any nicknames or anything when you were small?” Beau asked suddenly, staring as the light considerably darkened around them once they entered more tree-cover. Rain started drizzling, wetting the car windows, slushing away the last of the dirty-snow cover piled up near the edges of the road.

Edward shrugged, tilting his head. “Not really. My mom always called me by my name, my teachers followed suit. Carlisle and Esme aren't really nickname people.” He paused. “Alice calls Jasper ‘Jay’ sometimes, when she's really pleased with him for something or another.”

Beau made a vaguely interested noise. “I had a friend named Teddy.” Beau rolled his head back on his neck. “His real name was Edwin. Nice guy;  _big_  guy, though, always hated having to look up at him all the time.”

“Was this ‘Edwin’ one of your many boyfriends back in Arizona?” Edward grinned at him, mischievous to the core, and Beau laughed raucously, big laughs that made his shoulders shake a little.

“Boyfriend? That's rich.” He crossed his legs underneath him. “Closest thing to a boyfriend I ever got was this guy in my sixth grade class who tried to knock my teeth out near the baseball hut. Two weeks later, he grabbed me and pulled me behind a tree in the park; he was leaning in for a kiss.”

“What'd you do?”

“I broke his nose, what do you think I did?” Beau snorted, fiddling with the spare change he had in his pockets, listening to the clink of metal muffled by his jeans. “No way was I letting that bastard take my first kiss. He was a jerk, not to mention he wasn't all that cute either.”

Edward eyed him, a glint in his eye that Beau wasn't sure about. “Your first kiss? Haven't lost it yet?”

“Haven't really liked anybody enough to give it to them.” He pulled out a quarter, swiping his thumb over George Washington's little profile. "Thought about planting one on my friend, Marisa, just to get it over with, but then I stopped caring. Dunno, it doesn't really matter all that much."

Ed paused, thinking. "...I guess not."

...

The rest of the drive was mostly silent, them just thinking to themselves before they pulled into the driveway, and Beau felt really entitled in his gawking as they came up to the house. If it could be called a house. 'House' seemed like an understatement.

It was all sleek angles and glass, steep stairs leading up to the carved door, a mass of tall, sloping windows and modern, rich-looking balconies and arched metal doorways. When Edward turned the key in the lock and stepped to the side to let Beau in first, he couldn't really process just how much work must've been put into this obviously very expensive, very detailed living space.

It was warm, was his first impression. The lighting was bright and vibrant, washing over all the elements brilliantly, the walls pretty cream, the trimmings stark black in contrast.

“It's very...” Beau paused, listening to the way his voice echoed in the spacious foyer, looking up, up, up at the high ceilings and blinking at the generous skylight. “Nice.”

Edward snorted. “Yes. Very.” His tone was wry. "Esme and Carlisle don't settle for anything but the very best."

Beau tilted his head, trying to compare all the gleaming colors and rather interesting curves and cuts to his rather plain home with his dad. The outdated kitchen with peeling cupboards, the worn looking couch sagging in front of an older TV, an obviously well-used stereo sitting on the counter next to the stove. Comparing that to Edward's home, with all its metallic mantels, granite counter-tops, and custom made furniture... Well, Beau just couldn't get it to stick in his mind.

"So, do you want the grand tour, or...?" Edward seemed oddly out of his element, in his own home, taking off his jacket and shoes in the doorway, eyeing Beau staring at it all. He reached for Beau's coat and sneakers awkwardly. Beau had the strangest idea that the Cullens weren't used to having guests over for dinner.

Beau didn't say anything for a moment, in thought, before glancing at Edward. "Show me the important places first."

Edward looked surprised for a moment, before smiling. "That won't take too long, I don't think."

He dragged him along (as well as he could, considering Beau's crutches), whisking him up and around a circling staircase near the back of the entry-room. Beau got a bare glimpse of a glittering five-star kitchen that made his mouth salivate and a quaint family room with a stretch couch and a sleek fifty inch flat-screen. Then they were going up more steps that led to the second level.

It was the piano placed strategically next to an all-windows wall that made Beau pause in his tracks.

It was beautiful. Grand and black, paint gleaming on smooth wood. It looked well-used. Bunches of crumpled up sheet music were scattered across the back of the piano, pens and pencils held in a clean coffee mug near the keyboard, and scraps of half-written songs on printer paper were floating around on the floor.

 "Sorry about the mess," said Edward unapologetically. He never felt bad about leaving messes. Beau found it ridiculously endearing—sometimes, when Beau looked at perfect Edward Cullen, with his fashionable clothing and dark, brooding looks and breathless intelligence, he forgot that Ed was actually a  _human being._  Somebody who lived and breathed and had flaws and made mistakes and had feelings that went deeper than just getting perfect scores on Biology quizzes.

 After everything Ed had done for him, Beau knew better now.

 "This was all you, wasn't it?" Beau raised an eyebrow at all of the organized chaos, bending down to pick up a stray highlighter. It was violently pink, and Beau twirled it between his fingers as he spoke.

 "Mostly me," Edward admitted. "You might find one of Alice's mascara tubes down there." A brief look of agitation crossed his face. "I've told her a million times to do her makeup in the bathroom."

 Beau laughed, placing the highlighter into the utensil cup. "You two are such siblings. It's so  _cute_."

 Ed made a face. "She can be so annoying sometimes." He sat down at the piano bench, feet already bumping down on the pedals instinctively, fingers trailing over the keys, but not playing. Beau watched for a second. He'd never really thought of Edward as a musician, if only because he never knew that Ed could play anything, let alone the piano.

 He looked at home now; shoulders completely relaxed for the first time Beau had ever met him.

 "So," Beau drawled out, leaning against the piano softly. He gently rapped his knuckles against the smooth wood. "This is all yours?"

 Ed looked down at his own fingers. "For the most part. My family's not exactly musically inclined; the most Emmett can play is 'Chopsticks'. Very badly, but he can manage." He glanced out the window, distant horror in his eyes. "I tried teaching Alice once. Never again."

 Beau grinned. "What, you're telling me it  _didn't_  go swimmingly?"

 Edward made a face. "You're cruel." He sighed, pushing his thick hair away from his forehead. "She's a wonderful sister, but she really doesn't know how to listen when I tell her to do something."

 Beau's smile showed teeth. "She sounds like every sister I've ever heard of."

 "Basically." Ed's fingers plucked out a deep, tenor scale, ascending into soprano tones. "May I play you something?"

 Beau waved him off. "You don't have to, you—"

 "I want to." Ed was brightly earnest, scooting down on the bench to make room for Beau. "Come on, sit, let me show you something."

 Beau didn't try protesting, perching next to him, and placing his crutches down on the floor, sighing. "I swear to  _God,_  Cullen, if you try and make me sing, they'll never find the body..."

 Ed smiled.

 It was a simple song. There was no flashy pounding of the keyboard or bluesy runs that Beau had come to associate with the piano. But, even without all that, it was beautiful. The notes were smooth and silvery and scaling, and familiar to Beau somehow, accompanied by thick, heavy chords that layered and moved slow, like molasses. His breath caught.

 Edward was humming something underneath his breath, soft and quiet in his throat and Beau strained to hear it, eyes fluttering. There was an itch in the back of his mind. Beau had heard this song sung before; there were lyrics to it, he was sure, it was on the tip of his tongue, but just out of reach. It was  _infuriating._

 He was nearing the bridge, more mournful now, the notes slow and lingering and thoughtful and Beau just wanted it to go on forever. Was that strange, that he wanted to stay in this moment, the coolness and weight of Edward next to him, his fingers playing a song Beau knew but didn't, a thick drizzle jeweling the windows with water?

 The song was fading now, ending, and Beau's fists clenched at the bench as the last note rang out, receding.

 There was a little pause after, where they both just breathed, quiet.

 "What was the name of that?" Beau couldn't stop himself from asking, tentatively touching one of the keys that Edward had kept coming back to when playing.

 " _I Can't Help Falling In Love With You."_  Ed shrugged. "It's an old Elvis song."

 "I know it." He hadn't expected to, but he did, the name coming back to him almost violently. " _Everyone_  knows that song. It's beautiful. A classic."

 Beau recalled distantly a Christmas in his grandmother's old shack near the cliffs, back when his grandfather was still alive. Beau had only been a little thing, his hair a thick puff of curls on his head, his glasses taped together, broken from a scuffle on the playground, matching the scraped up skin of his knees. The dusty old record player in the old parlor with the flower wallpaper had been on, clear and smooth. Elvis, voice thick and crooning, had filtered throughout the house, sinking into every nook and cranny and burrowing there, like it belonged, like it was home. The music had filled the kitchen, bright and dazzling, where his grandma had just pulled out a pan of gingerbread cookies, the smells tickling Beau's nose and making his mouth water. Beau remembered his grandma laughing as his grandfather tugged playfully at her apron (a ratty thing with purple penguins on the hem) until she consented to dance with him.

 "Want to finish our tour then?" Edward's voice was loud in the quiet of the makeshift piano-room.

 Beau shook himself out of the memory, a curl falling behind his glasses and smiled at Edward. "Sure."

 Edward scooted sideways off the bench and held out his hand to help Beau up. It was becoming a habit of his, Beau noticed.  _Taking my hand._  He forced himself not to read into it—the last thing he needed was encouragement—and accepted Edward's offer of help with what he hoped looked like absentminded friendliness and not desperation.  Edward's hand was cold, like he'd been holding ice for a bit, but had toweled his fingers dry. Beau found he didn't mind too much.

 He desperately hoped his palm wasn't sweaty.

 Edward's hand dropped away to his side once Beau was on his feet and Beau tried very hard not to show his disappointment.

 Edward didn't seem to notice anything wrong; either he was ignoring the sudden shyness in Beau's demeanor or he was taking pity on him. He handed Beau his crutches and went up the rest of the stairs, Beau following closely behind as they twined up and around, holding the rails carefully as he limped slowly upwards. The next floor was had paneled wood underfoot and the ceiling wasn't as high as it was downstairs, but it still was very impressively decorated. The rooms Beau got to peek into were deep and caverned and filled with pointy furniture Beau knew couldn't be comfortable.

 "This is my room," said Edward as he swept open a door grandly, like he was a butler presenting a new princess to the royal court. Beau poked his stomach playfully as he passed, and winced when he stubbed his index finger against (weirdly) stony muscle. He shook out the pain discreetly, glancing around.

 Surprisingly, Edward's bedroom was clean. And beautiful, Beau noted. There was a huge built-in unit covering an entire wall, its shelves and edges silver. It was for holding what looked like hundreds upon hundreds of CDs and vinyls  _(really, Edward? No iPod?)._  There was a hollowed out center where a big screen television was supposed to go, but was absent; instead, a fat, glittery sound-system holding the place of honor. There were cleverly placed shelves with sleek edges holding big books and pretty trinkets Beau couldn't have guessed the purpose of.

 Opposite the built-in was a great big wall of glass, allowing Edward to look out onto the rolling forest with its great big oaks and hemlocks and various shrubs. A silk-screen tablet with a matching laptop and top of the line headphones sat on a pristine white desk in the corner, pens and papers in a neatish pile on the side.

 There was no bed, Beau noticed suddenly, bewildered. Only a pretty couch colored a bright white that matched the desk. It looked comfortable, but too leathery to sleep on and there were a bunch of school papers and books spilled onto its seating, the type of disarray that Beau had expected, if a bit smaller.

 "Where's the mess?" he asked, without thinking, and was rewarded with Edward laughing.

 "Esme makes me clean it every week." It didn't sound like a complaint and his smile was alarmingly wide. "You caught me on a good day."

 "And the bed?" Beau met Edward's gaze, which shot to the couch.

 "It's a pull-out cot." The other boy gestured to the messy sofa. "Maximizes space."

 Beau squinted at him. "I guess," he said dubiously. "Is it comfortable?"

 Edward grinned—he looked like a shark, his teeth white and clean and uncomfortably sharp. "Oh yeah," he said, still smiling weirdly. "I sleep like the dead on that thing."

 Beau chewed on his too-long thumbnail as he sat on the sofa—there were no armrests, oddly enough, probably for aesthetic more than anything else, so he put his hands in his lap and tried not to look uncomfortable. Edward was fiddling with the speakers on the built in, his fingers running through the music disks like they were pages of a book.

 Beau watched as he slipped one of his many, many CDs into the player. Soon, music bubbled out of the speakers, smooth piano notes tinkling innocuously into the room.

 Beau tilted his head—he didn't recognize this one, but it was pretty and sad and smooth, no words, and Beau's shoulders relaxed. It scaled, filling him up with that same unmentionable emotion he had felt when Edward had played for him. Edward wasn't looking at him, hovering quietly near the windows.

 Beau paused. "Do you like this kind of music, then?" It sounded stupid when he said it—Edward had put on this song, after all, how could he not like it—but Ed wasn't swaying or tapping his foot and his expression was very neutral.

 Fingers skittering over the CD cover, Ed shrugged. "I don't mind this one, but to be honest, classical music's kind of boring to me. This one's pretty, which is why I bought it, but I like actual words in my songs."

 Beau frowned. "So what do you like?"

 "Something with a melody I can hum along to," Ed shrugged. "I'm partial to the greats—Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong... Elvis." He smiled a little. "But I'm not very picky. If I like something, I buy it."

 "And that's another thing," Beau said, propping his chin in his hand, blinking slow and thoughtful at him. "You buy music. Who  _buys_  music anymore? Everybody now just downloads it from the internet if they like something on YouTube. You spend money on music."

 Edward scowled viciously, leaning against his wall of music, ankles crossed at the floor. His arms crossed, defensive. "I hate it when people do that. Music has value, too, like a painting on a wall or a book on a shelf."

 "Some people would argue that," Beau said, amused to see cool-headed Edward all fired up about something.

 Ed snorted. "Just because something's easy to do doesn't mean I have to." He sighed. "I just like supporting the artist." He became quiet again, looking out the wall of glass, eyes losing their sharpness. The song was nearly over, slowing down in its last notes.

 Beau got restless, fidgeting in the silence, side-eying him before standing up, more for something to do than anything else. He leaned against his crutch, approached the wall, still far from Edward, who was near a door in the corner which Beau assumed was his closet. The cases of the CDs were cold and plastic-y under his curious fingertips.

 He moved over to the shelf furthest from the hallway door, racking the fingers of his right hand over the spines of Edward's vinyls, still in their covers from when they were purchased, splashes of color against the white of the built-in. He glanced up—the top shelf held not vinyls, nor CDs, but binders and large books, messy pages sticking out of their tops, the edges cracked from overuse. 

 "What are those?" Beau went on the tips of his toes, the point of his crutch digging into the floor, straining to see and Edward chuckled.

 "You're so short," he said.

 "Whoa, rude," Beau reared back, glaring as he pushed up his glasses, smudging the lenses a little. Edward's smug profile looked foggy before he cleaned them viciously with the corner of his shirt. "Maybe I'm not short. Maybe you're just freakishly tall."

 "Sure," Edward stepped closer. "And that's my other music collection--sheet music, for piano mostly."

 "'Mostly?'" Beau asked. "Don't tell me you play some other instruments too."

 "No, but some of the songs have accompaniments, like cello or bass or guitar." Edward reached up without straining, pulling a binder down with ease, which made Beau glare all the harder. It was a faded green thing, with bright blue Sharpie swirling out "Dvorák _"_.

 Beau glanced it over.  _"Doo-vor-rak,"_  he sounded out, badly, incorrectly. "Sounds like a douche."

 There was a roar of laughter from Edward. "Yeah, a bit." He slid out one of the papers. "He did Slavonic Dances, if you know what that is."

 Beau raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "No, Edward, I don't; please, enlighten me."

 "Trust me, you don't want to know," he laughed. "They're really long and boring and they have all of these parts..." He shook his head. "I hated them with a passion. But that's all my mom would listen to on the radio, so. You know." He put the binder down on his desk, which was still littered with assignments from school.

 "Was she the one to teach you piano?" Beau asked, tentatively.

 "No, we couldn't afford one. I learned in school." Edward looked nostalgic. "When Carlisle took me in, he got me a teacher."

 "Oh, was he good?"

 "Yeah, but he was also really strict and had a ruler he used to smack us with when we weren't fast enough in picking up the key-changes." Edward laughed, rubbing his knuckle over the bump of his lower lip in memory.

 "That doesn't sound fun." Beau perched carefully on the desk, glancing at the silver-ball pendulum he had perched on a textbook. He poked one of them, watching the ripple effect of the group swinging back and forth, back and forth.

A hand stopped its arching movement. Beau glanced up to see that Edward was a lot closer now. "No," he admitted. "It wasn't."

"Was it worth it?" Beau had a bad habit of asking intrusive questions.

Edward shrugged. "Dunno." He had a queer expression on his face.

Beau opened his mouth to say something--he didn't know what--when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out, smiling apologetically, and glanced at the screen, which was lit up with a text from Angela.

_Did you skip school? havent seen you all day. You ok?_

"Who is it?"

 Beau glanced up, teeth denting his bottom lip. "Angela. She wants to know where I am."

"Tell her you're with me," Edward advised. "She shouldn't worry."

 Quietly, Beau thought that if he told her about being with Edward in his house, in his bedroom, after having spent the entire day playing hooky with him, that Angela  _would_  worry, but for all the wrong reasons.

 Still, he typed out a quick response, wrinkling his nose.

  _Yeah, I'm fine. At Edward's._

 He had to wait a few minutes for her response.

  _!!!_

 He laughed and sent back a text.

  _?_

 Her response came a second later.

  _are you guys dating? do I have to call the police? by police, I mean yr dad?_

 He rolled his eyes.

  _Ang, we've talked about this. Just because I'm a very homosexual guy doesn't mean that I can't have platonic relationships with people who happen to be male._

  _Idk man Cullen doesnt seem very straight to me. He mite have the hots fr u_

 Beau snorted to himself, jumping when Edward asked, "What are you two talking about?"

 "Your sexual orientation," Beau said casually and hid his smile when Edward fumbled a vinyl.

 Edward stayed very still for a moment, just looking at the cover in his hands, before saying, very quietly, "I thought Angela was supposed to be the good one."

 "You obviously don't know her very well, do you?" Beau joked. His phone was still vibrating in his hands and after winking at a shell-shocked Edward, he glanced back down. While they'd been talking, Angela had sent him a flurry of texts, becoming more and more outrageous as they went.

  _Boo?_

  _Answer me_

  _Are you 2 making out?_

  _u better use a condom_

 Beau wrinkled his nose delicately.

  _I don't put out on the first date, mom, calm down._

 His phone beeped again.

  _SO U ARE ON A DATE. I KNEW IT._

 Beau dropped his head on Edward's desk in his frustration, cheeks burning red.

 Edward glanced over in feigned concern, mildly amused. "Are you alright?"

 "Yeah, just questioning my life choices," Beau muttered, more to himself than Edward, but Edward still laughed.

  _Stop shipping me in real life, you creep. I was joking. How's everybody holding up over there._

 Angela's response took longer to come this time and Beau was beginning to flip through Edward's marked up copy of  _Girl, Interrupted,_  in boredom when the screen finally lighted with a message. He swiped his thumb to open it and felt a furrow forming on his brow as he stared down at the words he wished he hadn't seen.

  _School's just let out. Jess is still bein weird. im kinda glad you didnt come today. Miller got arrested in the parking lot after last bell._

 Beau sighed, running a hand through his hair, unsure as to how to respond.

 Edward stilled across the room, head tilted. "What's wrong?"

 Somewhere in the distance, a morning dove cooed loudly. Beau made a face. "Miller's been arrested."

 Edward didn't say anything, only moved a little closer. Beau only just realized that there wasn't a mirror anywhere in the bedroom--maybe Ed had one of those full-body ones in his closet, which was probably a walk-in one, with what all the space in his house.

 "Are you okay?" Ed asked slowly, and Beau really didn't know how to answer that question.

 "Dunno," he said honestly. "I'm a little numb."

 Edward's hand was deliciously cool against the slightly damp skin of Beau's forehead. "You feel warm," he murmured softly and Beau sighed.

 "That's just because you're freezing. All the time," Beau said as he slipped away. "I should text Jacob. Tell him not to pick me up."

 "I'll drive you home, don't worry about it," Edward said, anticipating Beau's question.

 Beau sent off the text and turned to back to Edward, who had moved away to gaze at the hazy sky outside. "Who taught you to drive?"

"Huh? Why?"

 "Because whoever it was should have their license revoked. You drive like you've got the devil in you."

"Hahaha. Very funny." The sarcasm dripped good-naturedly from Edward's lips. "You can blame Carlisle for that one. However, I think that most of it is just me. I'm a very impatient person."

Somehow that statement struck Beau as entirely untrue. Edward was one of the most patient people Beau had ever met. He was assaulted by images of Edward slowing his pace to match Beau's crutch-hampered speed, Edward holding the door open for strangers at the cinema, Edward good-humoredly putting up with Beau's friends' antics at the lunch table, etc.

"I don't think that's true."

Before Edward could respond, the slam of a car door signified the arrival of the rest of the Cullens.

 Edward glanced at Beau, mouth a very thin line above the handsome jut of his chin. "They'll be annoyed at me. Maybe we should get going."

 To Beau, Edward seemed slightly embarrassed, and a bit agitated, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was glancing around, as if uncomfortable.

 "Alright," Beau said cautiously. "Lead on, I guess."

 They cut through to the back of the house, Edward's shoulders stiff as he opened the door to the backyard's garage. Beau didn't have time to whistle appreciatively at the vintage cars and bikes that filled the space, but he did it internally as Edward hunted down the keys to a berry red Maserati. Ever the gentleman, Ed opened the side door for him and Beau slid inside, admiring the sleek interior as he rearranged his crutches across his lap.

 The engine revved and Ed hit the gas and valiantly ignored Beau closing his eyes in mild terror.

...

They pulled up in front of Beau's house, the car as smooth as satin, even over pot-holed road. Once again Beau wondered what overpriced romantic comedy he'd been written into.

"Well," Edward started as the car stopped. "I guess you should get inside."

Beau nodded, fingers tapping against the metal rung of his crutch. "Yeah." He looked out the window, at the ceiling, at his hands, before his eyes landed back on Edward. "You know, when I woke up this morning and I had to figure out a way to shower with cellophane wrapped around my foot, I was  _pretty_  sure my shitty mood was going to last the entire day."

Ed didn't respond, only waited.

"But it didn't because--" Beau paused and cleared his throat. "Well, you're pretty much the reason as to why I haven't had a nervous breakdown or something, so thanks. I really appreciate it." What he appreciated  _exactly_ , he couldn't be sure, but it pretty much encompassed everything he'd been feeling towards Edward the entire day.

"You're very welcome," Edward said sincerely. "And I hope you know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can come to me for help."

Beau grinned. "You're a good friend, Edward." He didn't let himself overthink it before he was pulling Edward into a proper hug.

Edward was cool and smelled like icy dinner mints that people packaged and ate around the holidays. If Beau could bottle it up and sell it as a cologne, than he would be a billionaire.

(Then again, it probably  _was_  his cologne, so).

Edward eventually hugged back, his arms tight and muscly around Beau's skinny shoulders and Beau sighed as he burrowed his nose into the warm cashmere of Edward's sweater.

He disengaged eventually, after the hug grew too comfortable and Beau feared he'd never want to leave.

But not before he stole Ed's phone number and programmed his own into Edward's silky-screened, top-of-the-line mobile.

"I'll text you later," Beau insisted as he leaned on his crutch, one foot on the curve of the sidewalk, the other on the street.

"Not if I text you first," Edward murmured, smile altogether too smug around the edges.

"Don't be a dick, Ed," Beau said as the other teen started the car and began pulling away, dreadfully slow for someone who drove like he was trying to race the Flash.

"I try not to be," Ed quipped before breaking the sound barrier. Beau watched until the car made a turn a few blocks down, until he couldn't see the fruit-punch-red anymore.

Charlie's old cruiser was in the driveway, sitting innocuously next to Beau's Baby Jean. Beau knew he must've gotten home early, a voice-mail no doubt sitting on his phone from the school about how Beau hadn't shown up to first period Trig.

He dreaded the conversation to follow, but put on a brave face and was about to shove his key into the lock when the door swung open, squeaking loudly on unoiled hinges.

"You and I have a lot to talk about, son." 

Charlie had a very good 'I'm-disappointed-in-you' face, Beau would give him that. 

He sat down at the kitchen counter uncomfortably, his crutches shoved underneath his feet, fingers tangling together uncomfortably. Charlie was raking his hands through his thinning curls, eyes screwed up in frustration as he gathered his words. 

"Dad--" Beau began to say. 

"No," Charlie interrupted. "No, Beau, you don't get to talk. You don't get to--to  _do this,_  alright?" He made an all-encompassing gesture, nearly hitting his hand on the pan rack. "I'm your father, Beau. I know it doesn't seem like it--God knows you do most of the cooking around here, anyways--but it's true. You didn't just get dropped on your mother's doorstep by some--some heron--"

_"Stork,"_  Beau grunted. 

Charlie glared. "My point is, I never intended to--to neglect you, Beau. I didn't want to be that kind of father. And I sure as hell don't intend to start doing so now." 

"Dad," Beau said, aghast. 

"You know it's true," Charlie spat, glaring at some point over Beau's shoulder. "After the divorce." He stopped. "After your mother and I separated, I didn't know what was gonna happen. She got custody, I got visitation rights, but she moved half-way across the  _country,_  Beau. What were visitation rights gonna do when I couldn't afford a  _fucking plane ticket?_  I got a Christmas card, if I got lucky. You sent me letters and drew me pictures, but they were... They weren't enough." To Beau's horror, tears were making Charlie's eyes go red. "They weren't... they weren't enough." 

Beau stood up, ignoring the sharp protest of his foot, and grabbed Charlie in a hug.

"I--"

"Shut up," Beau said severely. "Just... stop talking." 

Charlie was soft around the middle, big muscles melting into a bit of pudge with age, and he was real good for hugging. Metal and sharp-smelling aftershave filled Beau's nose. Charlie hugged back, but firmer, realer, than anything before. Beau dropped his head onto Charlie's chest and maybe that helped quell the tears, because when Charlie spoke his words were steady. 

"You can't do that, Beau," he murmured, breath ruffling the tops of his curls. "You just can't. If something happened to you, your mother would skin me. Even if you skip school, you have to call or text or, I dunno,  _smoke signal_  me--"  

Beau laughed, harsh and broken, in his throat. "Yeah, yeah. Okay." He meant it, too. It had been bad form; he didn't regret skipping, but he could've at least warned Charlie, told him he was staying home, faked a cough, complained about his foot, something other than disappearing, never to be heard from again.

"What happened?" Charlie asked after a little while, still holding his son, swaying a bit. Beau thought they'd be hugging it out a lot more often now. 

Beau shrugged. "Miller was in school today." 

Charlie stilled, entire body going stiff with tightly controlled anger. Finally, "I heard." There was a huff. "I guess it was better if you weren't there. We've had enough drama in the precinct as it is." 

This was news to Beau. "Oh?" 

"Yeah." Charlie's arms fell away and Beau stepped back, looking up at the tired face of his father. "I can't tell you how many times my lieutenants have offered their shotguns in support." 

Beau laughed. "That's nice to hear." He blinked as his phone jingled in his pocket, but he ignored the sound and sat down, remembering with a wince that he had a sprained ankle. 

"You gonna get that?" Charlie jerked his head. 

Beau shook his head, smiling. "It can wait." He paused, tilting his head. "What do you want for dinner tonight? We have the linguine from yesterday in the fridge." 

...

Later, under his bed covers, Beau lay in the dark, eyes open, staring in the emptiness. He had spent the whole day avoiding thinking too hard about anything of importance, but there, in the dark, there was no avoiding it anymore.

He was afraid.

Logically he knew there was nothing to fear. Miller couldn’t touch him. If anything, it was Miller and the others who should be afraid, afraid of what would happen in the court and whether or not they would have to finish their senior year of high school from a jail cell. Yet nothing he could tell himself would stop the clenching of his stomach, cold ice freezing his insides, or the compulsion to run away, change the subject or do _anything else_ but think about having to confront Miller again.

He felt sick. It wasn’t anything he had experienced before. It was entirely irrational, and unlike himself. Beau was a lot of things, but he wasn’t weak, and neither was he easily frazzled. But this was beyond him. Something he couldn’t escape, no matter how many times he skipped school with Edward.

Edward seemed absolutely fine. True, he hadn’t been the one beaten up, but he was equally as unfazed in as he had been during the entire ordeal. Intrepid. Beau fervently thanked whatever god had created him for the rock that was Edward, for what felt like the thousandth time. Not only had Edward saved Beau from Miller, he had saved Beau from himself by becoming his friend.

Thinking about Edward had become a diversion, just as hanging out with him earlier that day had been. Beau found himself constantly distracted, wondering about the strange luck that was his.

His phone beeped at him from the other side of the bedroom. He swung himself out of bed.

He swiped open his phone. The screen lit up, and a notification came up telling him that he had email. From the subject line he could tell it was just junk mail, but he was distracted by a symbol in the corner of his screen telling him that he had one message that he had missed earlier in the day.

From Edward: 

_Hello._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nearness of You by Nora Jones.
> 
> The song that Edward plays on his record player for Beau is The Meadow by Alexandre Desplat (breaking the fourth wall, guys, we know. It's fun XD)


	7. Vincent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is late. Jessica happens. And Beau's heart bruises.

Edward was late, which was very strange. 

They were supposed to meet near the bakery on the intersection of 5th and Sterling because Beau had awoken with a sudden craving for coffee and no way was he going anywhere near the horse-shit his dad mistook as being edible. They'd been meeting up all over Forks for about a week now, Ed driving him everywhere as Beau's foot slowly healed. Ever since they'd played hooky at the cemetery, Ed had been texting him like crazy, at least once a day. Beau didn't bother lying to himself about his excitement towards their growing friendship. 

He also didn't bother trying to convince himself that there was any possible way that Ed was anything but heterosexual.

Beau gave in and bought a small latte from the shop once it was obvious that Ed wasn't going to be on time, which was in itself a concerning idea. As long as he'd known Ed, he'd always been freakishly punctual. He could only assume something terrible had happened. 

Beau stood there, tapping his foot against the dew-slick pavement, a whip-cream mustache frothing his upper lip. He antsily checked his phone every few seconds just in case Edward had replied to his last text.

_Where are you?_

Finally, once Beau was half-way through his drink, the Volvo pulled up, Edward's arm dangling out the driver's window as cool as you please. 

"You're late!" said Beau, delighted, as the passenger door popped open for him. 

"You could try to sound less happy about it," Edward grumbled, but stepped on the gas only when he was sure Beau had buckled up correctly, which meant he wasn't really mad. 

"The day you stop being freakishly punctual is the day I tap dance to Nicki Minaj," said Beau and laughed at Ed's complete lack of recognition more than his own joke. "Never change, Ed, never change." He laid his crutch across his lap (he'd been demoted to only needing one now that the gauze had come off). 

Ed smirked and nodded at Beau's foot. "Well, the foot's looking better."

Beau grinned brightly. "Yeah, I'm this close to being able to walk without this thing." He clacked his nails against his crutch, the clang of metal immensely satisfying. 

"Well, you've been doing your stretches every chance you get." Ed rolled down his window, a rush of air messing up his bronze spikes charmingly. "I'd be surprised if you still had that thing in a week or so." 

Beau hummed in agreement, eyes scrunched up with distant pleasure at the idea of being able to walk again without limping, just in time for the last week of March.

Ed focused on the road, clearing his throat loudly. "Hey, did you finish the Spanish project?"

"Ugh," said Beau, nose crinkling. He sipped his drink before elaborating. "Angela was texting me at 11 last night panicking about it, poor thing." He shrugged, trying to convey his sympathy. "I thought it was pretty fair."

"Hmm," Ed muttered as he turned into the school parking lot. "Well, you're the exception." 

As if on cue, Eric popped up by the Volvo as soon as they stopped and exited the car and fretted at them, "Dude, I'm pretty sure I just failed Spanish, oh God."

"Calm down, tell me everything," Beau soothed as they headed up the stairs and into the main building. "What happened?"  
"What do you think happened?" Eric pursed his lips and exhaled harshly, a tuft of hair lifting onto his forehead. "Senora Valorez is going to  _kill_  me! I was up late all week playing a GTA tournament and the next thing I know—"

"Procrastination is not your friend, Eric," Beau laughed. "Remember that."

Eric's moans of defeat followed them down the hallway.

Ed glanced behind them. "Think he'll survive?" Beau was laughing too much to answer.

...

Jessica looked prettier than usual. Her mouth was painted berry red, her hair perfectly curled in gold ringlets, silver glinting at her wrists and dangling at her earlobes. But her shoulders were hunched and she squirmed around in her seat and she hadn't touched her salad, only picked at it half-heartedly with her fork. She was sat across the cafeteria, surrounded by a loud group of cheerleaders near the windows. Beau didn't bother making eye contact, only chewed consideringly on his sushi as Angela showed him cuts for next week's school newspaper. 

Ed growled low in his throat, like he'd overheard something he didn't like, and Beau shot him a look. 

"Something to say, big guy?" he asked. 

Edward jumped, like he hadn't noticed Beau looking at him. "What? Me?" He smiled innocently, but his eyes weren't looking at Beau, instead glaring where Jessica sat, slumped defeatedly. "No, nothing." He made a show of sipping from his thermos, licking his lips for emphasis.  

"Mmhmm." Beau was unimpressed. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the sound of a throat being cleared interrupted him.

The table's eyes turned. Tyler and Mike quieted where they were arguing about some NBA statistic, Angela stopped poking fun at Eric, and Edward's full attention, for once, was on something other than whatever the hell went on in his head most of the time.

Their teacher tapped a pen against his clipboard. "Beau?" 

"Mr. Varner?" Beau smiled confusedly at his Trigonometry teacher. "What's up?"

Mr. Varner was a long skinny man who favored long skinny ties that made him look even longer and skinnier. His current tie was white with heinous green polka dots and was long enough to be tucked into his belt. 

"So sorry to interrupt," Varner said blandly, not looking very sorry at all. "But I have a pass for you to go up and see Dr. Franklin." He waggled said pass in the air, his eyebrows high on his brow, and handed it over. "Have a good day," he intoned succinctly and left without another word. 

Tyler snorted. "What a '90s villain." 

Angela said tentatively, "I think he kind of looks like Jim Carrey. But skinnier. And with glasses."

Edward's eyes lit up. "I understand that reference!" Beau looked at him. "What?" Ed's shoulders tightened defensively. "I  _do."_

Beau sighed. There was not enough time in the world for Beau to explain how accurate that sentence was. "Well. Seeing as I'm dead, I'll see you guys in the next life." 

" _Ooooh_ ," said Eric. "Beau's in troubleeee~"

Tyler cuffed him round the neck and it devolved into a parody of a cat-fight, slaps flying everywhere and nearly upsetting Angela's uncapped Nestea. 

"You guys are pathetic," said Beau and moved to leave, his bag slung over one shoulder, the crutch hooked under the other. 

Ed stood up, patting his lips with a napkin. "I'm done too. I'll come with you."

Beau's insides fluttered a little with pleasure, but guilt won out, and he said "You really don't have to." 

"Oh," said Edward, looked a bit dejected for a moment before he slowly smirked, insufferably so, "But I  _want_ to." 

Beau's mouth flapped open, struck dumb. "You—But—"

"I'll get the door," Ed purred, sauntering by quickly before Beau could reply. 

"Oh, just get a room already!" Tyler said loudly. Beau went furiously red, his middle finger nearly stabbing Tyler in the eye before he stormed off, unable to stomp his feet as hard as he wanted to with his lame foot. He settled for slapping the foot of his crutch against Edward's shin.

Dr. Franklin was stood in front of his office strangely, a determination hardening his normally mild expression into something very stony. Beau stopped short of him, Ed nearly knocking into his shoulder at the last second.

Dr. Franklin seemed mildly taken aback to see Edward behind Beau, but not as surprised as Beau might have anticipated. He silently ushered them inside his doors before taking a seat behind his desk and gesturing for them to do the same. "Ah, Mr. Cullen, I see you have been invited to our little chat today. No matter, I don't mind if you listen in, as long as you don't mind being discreet about repeating what you hear. I'm assuming Mr. Swan here invited you and is okay with this as well?"

He looked to Beau for confirmation, who nodded his assent.

"Well," he said, floundering for a moment before he visibly steeled himself. "As you now well know, Adam Miller has been arrested last week. And today, the paperwork for his expulsion has been finalized."

Beau drew a breath and felt the gentle coolness of Edward's hand on his shoulder seep sweetly into his shirt and down his back and settle warmly into his spine in his relief.

"The school board ruled on this a week ago, of course, but you know how these things are," Franklin continued, before frowning. "Well, I suppose not, but they take so long, you understand—"

His secretary side-eyed him. "Sir?" she said, interrupting another flood of words that Beau did  _not_  want to hear.

"Oh, well, in short, Mr. Miller is no longer a student here at Forks High School," Dr. Franklin exhaled. "There, it's done, get the stupid paperwork out of my office, dear  _God_. _"_

Beau laughed breathlessly. Edward, who had remained silent the whole time admitted a small huff of amusement.

Dr. Franklin smiled at them for a bit before spinning a bit in his chair to look at the paintings on the wall of the office. He visibly sobered. "I just wanted to let you know, personally," Franklin's chair turned back towards them. "Detective Bradstreet will no longer be visiting you at the school anymore, by the way. If you see him again, hopefully, it will be as a witness in the stand during the trial of Adam Miller, Tim Crawley, Dylan Sharpton, Craig Hunts and the rest."

Edward's hand on Beau's shoulder tensed.

"Do you have any questions Beau? Do either of you have anything you want clarified?"

Beau started to shake his head, but stopped when a question passed over his mind. "Actually there is something that has been bothering me. It's only... I don't know how to put this without seeming ungrateful. Why only Miller? Why was he the only one expelled, I mean? All the other kids who were involved..." Beau trailed off, unsure of how he wanted to finish his question.

Dr. Franklin paused for a moment before gathering himself. "I understand that the punishments may seem unequal to you. It is often the case with a situation such as ours that one student is made an example of, and held up as the villain, the main perpetrator of the crime. I'm not going to attempt to excuse this practice. It is just accepted that no matter what, the school board is not going to expel half a dozen star pupils. The community backlash would be... unpleasant, to say the least." He grimaced.

"What about justice?" Edward finally broke his silence, forehead wrinkled with disapproval. "Everyone involved with this incident equally was to blame."

Franklin licked his lips nervously. "Yes, well—"

"Okay, Miller may have been the instigator," Edward said coldly. Ice crackled in his voice. "But that doesn't mean that Crowley didn't punch Beau in the face, that Hunts didn't throw Beau into that godforsaken closet, that Sharpton didn't put his foot on Beau's face."

"Ed." Beau touched his shoulder hesitantly. "Calm down."

"Why?" Edward narrowed his lips. "They're—"

"A  _schoolboard_ ," Beau said thinly. "They're not lawyers or judges or a jury of peers. They're administrators. Hopefully, the... the people who hurt us will be put on trial and be found guilty and be punished." Beau glanced at Franklin. "Thank you for telling me, sir, but I think we'll just head back to lunch now if that's alright with you." 

Dr. Franklin, looking frazzled, only nodded. "Yes, of course. If there's anything I can do..."

Beau smiled faintly. "No, I don't think there's anything. Thank you, again." And he led Edward out of the office, who only glared over his shoulder, but said nothing to everyone's relief. 

"I appreciate what you were trying to say, but at this point it's better to just let everything roll out on its own," Beau muttered fervently as they walked down the hallways. Edward glared at nothing in particular and didn't answer, only walked fast so Beau had to jog to keep up.

"Beau!"

They paused and turned and Edward looked even more displeased to see Jessica Stanley than Beau was. 

"Beau!"

She was running after them, clearly having just come from the lunchroom. She wrung her wrists, her heels clicking loudly against the floor, curls bouncing anxiously around her shoulders, and Beau felt a squidge of sympathy for her, however short-lived it was. 

"Jessica," said Beau, "I  _really_  don't think this is the best time."

Edward crackled ominously at his shoulder. 

Jessica glanced at Edward nervously for a second, before seeming to shake herself and directing her gaze back to Beau. She set her jaw and looked him straight in the eyes. 

"No, I'm sorry, but this can't wait," Jessica said firmly. "I—I screwed up." She racked her hands through her hair, and Beau knew she was serious. She never touched her hair, let alone on a day she'd styled it so prettily. "I don't... I don't even know how you can look at me right now." She laughed, self-deprecating. 

Ed muttered, barely audible, "Yeah, me too." 

"Shh," Beau scolded, before turning back to Jessica. "Sorry about that. Go on." 

Jess swallowed, eyes flying from Edward to Beau and back again. "I made a mistake," she continued tremulously. "I turned my back on you because of. Of what Adam did. What happened to you wasn't your fault, and it was horrible. I knew that. And when I heard—when I saw your face..." Her eyes blinked wetly, mascara-spiked lashes flapping rapidly. "I couldn't believe that a boy I knew, a boy I liked, would do something like that. And I tried to justify it, I tried to tell myself it wasn't because of... of you being gay."

Ed let out a sub-vocal growl that only stopped when Beau elbowed him in the ribs. 

(He discreetly rubbed his arm where his skin AND A WALL OF STONE had connected hard, holy  _crap_ , there was definitely going to be a bruise).

"Anyways," Jess said, looking miserable, "I was wrong. I was so wrong, Beau, and I know I have no right to do this, but I honestly wanted to say that I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I did and I'm so sorry for it." 

There was a short, heavy pause where Beau considered her. Her throat bobbed with her nerves. 

"I believe you," said Beau finally once he felt she'd suffered enough. 

She pressed her lips together, eyes wide with shock. "You—you do?" 

"Yeah." He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That doesn't mean I've  _forgiven_  you." 

Jess breathed in shakily, a tentative relief in her eyes. "No. No, I get it." 

"And just because I understand why it happened doesn't mean I'm not still angry either," he warned. 

"Of course," Jess added quickly. "And I'm not expecting anything. I just—I just want another chance, to make things right." She paused. "And I—I miss you guys." 

Edward raised an eyebrow at her.

"I—I mean I miss everyone at the lunch table. Do you think it would be okay if I could sit with you guys again tomorrow?"

Beau glanced at Edward. "Jessica, honestly I don't care if you sit with us or not. It's up to you."

Jess exhaled loudly and grinned for real. "Thanks. Thank you." The bell shrilled loudly. As she jogged away, she tossed over her shoulder, "I promise you won't regret this!"

And she disappeared into the swirl of churning students, to Beau's hopeless amusement. 

"Well, she has some nerve," Ed said meanly and Beau glared at him half-heartedly. 

"She has issues just like anyone, Ed, and you are not one to talk." He'd poke Edward in the chest if he didn't know that it would actually hurt Beau more than it would Edward. He settled for walking away quickly and smiling to himself when he heard the other boy sigh to himself and follow.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, a furrow appearing on his otherwise perfect skin. Beau watched him out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Liar," Beau muttered and pretended not to smile at Edward's affronted expression for the rest of the day.

...

That should've been the end of it. But it wasn't.

The next few days were fraught with tension. Jessica rejoined them in the cafeteria, her face bright and hopeful, and Angela, ever forgiving, accepted her back with open arms once she glanced at Beau's expression and knew it was alright with him. Mike was lukewarm to her, eyes still sharp and unsettled, but didn't say anything nearly as acerbic as Ed's words tended to be now that he knew his target was listening. Tyler and Eric, however, had gone the cold shoulder route and barely said anything when they ate anymore besides to each other.

"I just don't get it," Tyler had admitted to Beau in a quiet lull during Spanish. "She cut you off, man. She saw the bruises, the leg, what they did to you. We all did. And she took Miller's side. And you're okay with that?"

Beau shook his head and said, "This isn't just about me, Tyler. She has things she needs to figure out, problems she needs to solve on her own. What she did wasn't about betraying me, it was about her trying to stand beside an old friend."

"Well, it pisses me off." His teeth was a slash of harsh white against his black skin in his anger. Beau smiled sympathetically.

"I know," he said and nothing more.

Eric's attitude was much the same, only ever referring to Jessica as "the traitor" and never meeting her eyes when she tried to talk to him.

But slowly, things were turning back to normal.

And then Edward happened.

Beau woke up one morning, smiling from a vivid dream involving Edward and a bucket of peanut butter. He skipped down the stairs (as much as he could skip, with a crutch) after doing his complicated daily dance into his skinny jeans. He had just enough time to whip up a protein scramble on the stove for him and Charlie.

"Well," said Charlie around a mouthful of eggs and sausage. "You're in a good mood, today."

"I get to walk without my crutch tomorrow," Beau sing-songed as he slipped into his converse on the counter.

Charlie grunted and tossed him his keys. "Get to school already, brat." His voice belied his amusement, and Beau blew a cheeky kiss over his shoulder as he opened the front door and shut it behind him. Even the ride to school was smooth, the tires gliding cleverly over the bumpy tar of the Forks roads. His favorite parking space next to the main building was conveniently empty and he slid Jean into it happily, humming something bubblegum and pop under his breath.

Even Mr. Varner couldn't throw a damper on Beau's happy day and he peacocked his way out of class, fully expecting Edward snide and smirking at his locker. And he was there, just not alone, and definitely not smirking.

Rosalie was at his shoulder, and her lips moved too quickly for Beau to read, but her brow was furrowed and her eyes were narrow and she did not look interested at all in whatever Edward was saying to her cheekbone. She waved a hand tipped in red, and stood her ground and Beau's perfect day was suddenly darkened by a model-shaped rainstorm.

She quieted when Beau got into hearing range and smiled sardonically at them both. "Twinky," she sneered in greeting, brushing off her pleated schoolgirl skirt.

Beau smiled back, tongue brittle in his mouth. "Buttercup."

She sniffed and flounced away, not before leaning so close that Beau felt a puff in his ear and a whispered, "Time's up, sweetheart." Beau watched as the biggest Cullen welcomed her back under his arm across the hallway before disappearing discreetly into another classroom.

"Well, she's in a mood today," he said companionably, but when he turned back to look at his favorite Cullen, Edward was so still he looked like a statue. "Hey." Beau frowned, concerned. "Are you okay?"

His eyebrow twitched, but that was the only movement he made apart from a whispered, "Yeah. Just tired."

Beau raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

Edward shook himself. "Fine, I'm fine." He smiled faintly at Beau. "Just family issues."

"Oh?" Beau prompted innocuously. They moved towards their next class leisurely, not rushing, just walking side by side through the campus companionably. Their next class was in a different building across the school grounds and most of the students were inevitably late anyways so no one really hurried on their way there.

Edward was silent for a while, merely glancing around them, at the tall grass, uncut recently, and wet with morning dew. It was only just the beginning of April and so the air was still reasonably brisk, yet it was considerably warmer than the week before. All of the snow had melted, and the some white and violet crocuses had begun to push through in patches throughout the schoolyard. "My parents are coming home this tomorrow."

"From where?" Beau hadn't really been aware that they were gone.

"Networking. In Alaska."

"Isn't that a good thing? Your parents coming home, I mean?"

Edward sighed. He looked frustrated, in a way that Beau hadn't seen before. He shook his head at Beau stopping in his tracks.

"I—I don't know how to—how to put it..." He glanced at Beau before looking away. "Chances are... when they get back... well, for one reason or another, they may not be so happy with me."

"Why? Did you do something wrong?"

"No, not in my mind. But they might not agree with me." Edward had stopped walking, instead stared at a cluster of spring flowers near their feet. "Do... do you understand?"

Beau shook his head no.

The conversation had taken a distinctly awkward turn, leaving Beau helpless to try and jump in when Edward groaned with irritation. He grabbed at his hair and then sat down suddenly on a bench on the path they were taking. He pinched the bridge of his nose as though thinking hard about something.

"I wish... I wish I could tell..." He trailed off, hand sliding off his face and hovering in the air, like if he just reached far enough he could grab the words he wanted physically.

"What?" Beau sat down next to him, now very alarmed because he had never seen Edward so flustered before. Never heard him stutter or sigh like he couldn't find his words, like he couldn't convince his lips to move in the way he wanted them to. 

Edward turned abruptly, twisting his upper body around to look at Beau. His eyes were so dark, so black that Beau thought he could see stars yawning in them. He opened his mouth to say something, lips trembling, but then he clamped them shut and shook his head slowly and Beau's stomach spasmed uncontrollably. 

"I can't." Edward's voice was so broken, like someone had cracked a bone and wrung it, and Beau couldn't help but reach out and slide his fingers against Edward's wrist. Edward yanked his arm out from under Beau's touch, and Beau might've been offended if in the same second Edward hadn't grabbed that same hand that had reached for him only a moment before. He squeezed around Beau's loose fist so hard it nearly bruised his knuckles and it felt like he was clenching around Beau's ribcage.

"I'm sorry," Beau said because he couldn't think of any other words.    

Edward bowed his head. "I know." He didn't let go of Beau's hand. "I just wish..."

And for a second, Beau was stupid. He was so  _fucking stupid_ , because he let his gaze go all red-tinged and syrupy and the bubble inside his chest swelled into something made out of sugar and everything good, and he let himself believe. Let himself think he had a chance.

And he opened his mouth, a smile creasing his lips, his eyes big and wet like a cow's, and he said:

"I think I know what you feel. I feel it too."

And Edward's head lifted from where he was staring at his own lap and he turned to Beau and there was a moment where Beau thought he would reciprocate, but it passed, it passed like a knife passing through flesh, and Edward held Beau's hand so tightly. He held it with two hands, one pressed to the palm, one clutching his knuckles, like he could swallow it up if he tried. And he said, gently, oh so gently, with a little smile on his face that made Beau want to scratch his dark, deep, precious little eyes out of his face, "No, Beau. No, not that."

Beau stopped breathing for a second and that smile, that smile melted away, Edward looking sad and lost, and Beau wanted to scream.

Instead he tugged his hand away, cold lingering on his skin. "Oh, I thought—"

"I'm sorry—"

"No, it's my fault, I should've..."

"It's not like that."

"But it is, right?" Beau laughed so harshly it turned into a cough. "Look, man, I—this has happened before, and you're taking it a lot better than the other guy did, okay?"

"I do care about you, Beau," Edward insisted, so freaking nice, all earnest and sweet-smiling.

"I know." Beau stood up, shouldering his backpack, and cloaking the rest of his heart around him like a shield. "That kinda makes it worse."

Now Edward was standing, thin mouthed, a little shaken. "It's not your fault. I... Have I been giving mixed signals?"

And Beau went gray. "No, Edward, you haven't. I'm just stupid." He turned and walked away, listening to Edward follow slowly, but knowing it wouldn't last.

It never lasted.

...

Beau didn't know what changed that day. But something did.

The last week of March melted into April without Edward. Green soaked into the grass and the trees and the frosted edges of everything softening into spring, though the sky still roiled with haze-bright clouds.

And Edward was gone.

Beau's texts sat on his dimming phone screen, unanswered, pathetically whiny.

_Edward?_

_Are you okay?_

_Where are you?_

_Is this about Miller? Is this about the trial?_

_Did Rosalie say something to you_

_Edward_

_Edward, talk to me_

_Is this about the thing I told you about in school? I'm not going to apologize for the way I feel, but I don't know what you want me to say._

_Please answer me, I'm worried_

There was a little knot inside Beau's chest that went colder and colder as the days went by and Edward still wasn't in school and still wasn't answering Beau's calls. And he didn't know  _why_  he was surprised. Het guys that were cool about Beau's orientation but suddenly changed their minds when they thought he was interested in them were as common as dollars. Then they started acting all weird and aggressively 'no homo, bro' until Beau's attraction had curled up into a little dry husk of itself.

And Beau didn't know why he expected Edward to be any different.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) by Don McLean. Specifically the version by Ed Sheeran - http://www.vh1.com/news/54530/storytellers-ed-sheeran-live-videos/


	8. The Blue Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytelling time. Beau catches a cold (and so does Jacob, suspiciously). Edward has some 'splainin' to do (and so does Gramma Swan).

The fire crackled loudly in the pit, and Beau stared so hard into the flames that when he blinked, he could see the bright imprint on the back of his eyelids, dancing spots swirling purple and green and white. The rush and lull of the waves was making him sleepy. The whole tribe it seemed was gathered around the pit on the shore for the annual spring bonfire, women and men and children perched on the ground, on logs and folding chairs, grilling up enough food to feed an army.

His grandmother had invited him to the bonfire a week or so ago, and Beau had hesitated initially, the sting from Edward's rejection and subsequent disappearance still fresh, but then _Jacob_ had happened. He'd come stomping around only a day after the Great Edwardian Homophobic Shitfest and dragged Beau to the cliffs, prying the story from a very reluctant Beau.

It had taken three hours to convince Jacob not to hunt Edward down and do something that Charlie would've had to arrest him for.

"It's not worth it," Beau had said miserably. "I don't even want to think about him anymore, let alone be sued in court by him."

Jacob had settled down, but Beau's pleas hadn't stopped Jake from following him home and then staying _forever_. For days, Jacob stuck to Beau's side like glue as much as he could, tailing him from school, going grocery shopping with him, even lazing around in Beau's bedroom so much that Charlie had begun to suspect _feelings_. Of the romantic kind.

Beau had quickly shut that down.

("DAD, THAT'S DISGUSTING, WHAT THE HELL—!"

"Shut up, Princess, I'm not that bad."

"You are _not helping!_ ")

Angela had been much the same, and within minutes of discovering Edward's discrepancy, she'd been plotting his demise in such excruciating detail, paying so much attention to a particular part of anatomy that even Beau went green.

Eric, who'd been standing nearby, had understandably been shocked pale by her outburst.

"What?" Angela had sent one of her rare, but no less frightening glares in his direction.

Still shocked into silence Eric could only visibly swallow and blink at her. 

Understandably, Jacob hadn't been pleased with Beau's recent introverted behavior, and so when he heard that Beau had been invited to the bonfire he wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd logically pointed out that to not go would be to admit that Edward had gotten under Beau’s skin. Besides, his grandmother had asked him, and no one, _no one_ said no to Alaqua Sampson Swan. Not even Charlie or Beau's mother—to whom she had no relation—could refuse her. 

Beau could vividly recall an instance immediately following the fight that had led to the divorce. His grandmother had shown up, seemingly out of the blue to take Beau home with her. Renee had protested. In the time leading up to the divorce, Renee had been strangely insistent that Beau would come to live with her, and had sworn that only upon her death would she let Beau out of her sight.

Beau had watched and listened from around the doorway as Alaqua took Renee, sat next to her on the old yellow sofa, and talked to her in a quiet, patient tone for a few minutes. Beau could not hear precisely what was being said, but he could see that by the end of the conversation his mother had begun to weep, her head in her hands as Alaqua soothed her, rubbing her back comfortingly. She said something to her, to which Renee still hunched over wordlessly, nodded her assent, and stood. 

Beau, who had been pretending to silently read _The Chamber of Secrets_ in the kitchen, quickly investigated the floor as his grandmother approached. 

She sat down at the table, suddenly looking exhausted. She looked him over with evaluating eyes, her expression giving away nothing. She finally cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at him to get his attention. "Beau."

He had never seen her look so serious before.

"You will be coming to live with me for a while," she said, voice soft. "Your parents need time to themselves to work out a few things. They've decided that they can't live together, which you already know, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, divorces are messy, messy things and they take time, and are quite stressful. For _everyone_ involved." She raised her eyebrow at him again, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. "I'm sure it's been stressful for you too. And that's why you're going to come with me for a while, so that your mother doesn't have to worry about you being stressed out like her."

Beau had never liked being patronized. But somehow, even though he knew he was being mollycoddled, he appreciated that what she was saying was true. And suddenly he felt like crying too. He didn't know why. He hadn't cried when his parents had told him. He was old enough to understand what a divorce was and he had seen it coming. But still, he felt that little ever-present lump in his throat grow larger and harder and his eyes itched hotly and wetly.

"Oh, honey, it's going to be okay," she enveloped him in her warm arms before the tears that were flooding him even had a chance to spill over.

His grandmother had always known what he needed, even when he didn't. Maybe that was why he was here, sat on a patch of dry sand as the setting sun set a wash of burning amber and dark purple over everything, the fires crackling around him. He was waiting for his grandmother to tell him what to do, how to get over the wriggling, wounded serpents choking his stomach. He wanted her to tell him how to get over a boy who he thought was kind, and understanding, but in reality was colder than the Washington winter.

"Princess!"

His head whipped around and he met Jacob's eyes.

"Pay attention!" He nodded his head at the elders, the old grizzled leaders of the tribe, and Beau shifted into a better position. He was sat on the ground near Jacob's feet, who perched on a log near the pit and was devouring hot dog after hot dog like he'd never eaten before. "You want something else to eat, Beau?"

Beau shook his head, his stomach already bulging from lasagna eaten ten minutes previously, and could feel Leah laughing at him from across the way. Leah was a tall, dark girl with thick hair and thicker hips. She was also the closest to him in age when it came to the whole tribe, and a fire-breather to boot. Beau had been filled in on the family drama a few weeks ago by Jacob, and now knew that her long term romance with Sam had not ended very well at all. He felt for her, but their reunion hadn't been very emotional, in comparison with his and Jacob's.

"Sucked a dick yet?" she'd asked bluntly once the small talk was over.

"No, unfortunately. You?" Beau had parried. They'd then sat down and talked crap about Jacob for an hour or so while he whined in a corner with little Seth. Little Seth, who wasn't so little anymore, stretched tall and gangly in a way that meant he'd fill out once he hit his upper teens, smile whiter and more sugared than marshmallows.

Leah grinned at him presently, teeth sharp and wolfish in her lipsticked mouth. "So, Beau, I heard you've been hanging around the Cullens." Her fingers seductively walked themselves over the sandy ground, skipped over a pebble in their way.

Beau shifted, heart panging in his chest the same as always whenever Edward was mentioned anymore. "Yeah, not so much anymore." He stared at her still-moving hands.

Leah sniffed, shaking her head. She’d gotten her hair cut in the time Beau had been away, and now rocked a cute black bob that fluttered when her head moved. "Somehow I don’t believe you," and then her eyes went all teasing. "You do know the tribe lore about them, anyways?"

Beau scoffed. " _What_ tribe lore?"

"Remember the cold ones stories?" Leah grinned, tapping her nails against a water-polished rock. "Those were always your favorites, after all."

Beau's brow furrowed and he tilted his head. "Are you really trying to convince me Edward and his family are blood drinkers, Leah? Really?"

She laughed at him, pausing to wipe her hands on a baby wipe and crunch on a potato chip.

"Are you talking about the Cullens?" Seth plopped down next to them, chewing on a thumbnail in his worry. "God, they're creepy." Jacob followed him, a thundercloud spreading across his brow at Edward’s last name. Beau silently prayed he wouldn’t make a scene.

Leah smirked obliviously, waggling her eyebrows, and said around a mouthful of food, "Well, Beau's been getting nice and cozy with a few of them, ain't that right, Swan?"

Beau shook his head as Seth turned big concerned eyes on him. "Dude!" Seth whispered fervently, "Stay away from them! They're _Cold Ones_ , man! They'll suck your blood out through your neck and gobble down your bones afterwards!"

Beau rolled his eyes, annoyed. All these people kept telling him to stay away from Edward when he was pretty sure the same guy he'd been defending all this time had dumped his butt two weeks ago. Edward was too busy staying away from Beau for him to be a blip on the radar anymore. Beau wasn't sure which part of his life was sadder—the fact that he'd put his trust in somebody and gotten burned, or the fact that he should've seen it coming a mile off, with all these warnings popping up along the way. But he was just too stupid to see when he should've dropped everything and run.

Leah threw a potato chip at him presently. "Hey, are you listening?"

"No," Beau said honestly. "Because you guys're crazy. Even if the Cullens _were_  blood drinking creeps, you honestly think Billy would stand having them anywhere near the tribe?"

"But they're _special_ cold ones, dude," Seth insisted, big eyes gone even larger with fear. The fire cast a strange orange glow over everything, and Seth looked like he was drenched in golden honey. "They don't drink _human_ blood."

Beau laughed. "What do they drink then? Kool-Aide?"

Leah nearly choked on her food, and she tossed a glare his way, and Beau looked back at her, entirely unrepentant. She'd started it.

"No." Seth pouted, like this was something to take seriously. "They drink _animal_ blood, stupid."

 Beau arched an eyebrow. "Well, excuse me for not knowing something so incredibly obvious. I'm a disgrace."

“Think about it,” Jacob piped up suddenly from where he was sprawled next to Beau, a warm expanse of heat and muscle. His smile was way too sickly-sweet to be genuine and Beau knew he was thinking about killing Edward in increasingly violent ways. “Heartless, pale, unbreathing creatures of the night? Sounds like them, doesn’t it.”

“Don’t be mean, Black,” Beau said sharply, knowing deep inside his chest that Jacob meant ‘him’ instead of ‘them’.

“And, and they _never_ come down to the Rez!” crowed Seth, ignoring the sudden tension in the air that snapped like high-strung rubber bands and stung just as badly. “Because they’ve agreed to never come on wolf turf!”

“That just about proves it, Princess,” said Jacob, smirk still meaner than a dog’s, stretching out an arm to wrap Beau up in a half-hug. “Your precious boyfriend is a _vampire_.”

Beau scoffed and threw away Jacob’s arm. “Suck it, Jake.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” muttered Leah snidely to the disgusted groans of the boys.

Jacob sobered suddenly as two shapes emerged from the outskirts of the clearing to stand near the food tables. Sam Uley, tall and thickly muscled in his black t-shirt, and Embry Call, suddenly short-haired and downcast, sat down next to the elders.

“Did you hear about Embry?” Jacob said, voice like stone.

Beau wasn’t the only one to have been abandoned that month. Really the only good part about the last two weeks was the fact that Beau's foot was now cast-free and more importantly Beau was _crutch_ -free. Besides Beau, Jacob had two other best friends, Embry Call and Quil Ateara V, the son of one of the tribe members, Quil Ateara IV.

“No,” said Leah, confused, eyes shooting between Embry and Jacob. “What happened?”

“Sam Uley happened,” Jacob grunted and turned away, soured at the world. “Suddenly Embry decided to cut his hair, and Sam has him convinced that he’d be better off not hanging out with Quil and me anymore.”

Leah’s expression blanked at the mention of Sam; her mouth tightened, and despite the fact that she hummed low in her throat in agreement, Beau knew they’d lost her. “I don’t understand him any better than you do, Jacob,” she said carefully. “All I know is that he ruins lives.” She turned and spat on the ground, like she had bile in her mouth.

Beau shifted and exchanged an alarmed glance with Seth, but they wisely stayed quiet as Jacob nodded and patted Leah’s shoulder in commiseration.

Their conversation was interrupted by some Quileute boy howling in the distance, mimicking the wolves that had roamed the lands, once upon a time. One of the elders snapped at him and his friends sharply. "Respect your heritage!" he hissed, voice a wisp on the wind, and that was the signal for something greater than just a scolding.

“Storytime,” Seth said, pushing a too-large marshmallow into his already-sugary mouth and going quiet as the crowd around them shushed him.

Billy Black stared out into the fire, reflective eyes filled with flame and smoke, before beginning to speak. In a way, Beau had always distantly recognized the authority Billy carried throughout the community, the same way he recognized his grandmother's importance, but like his grandmother, he'd always been too close to really acknowledge this kind of respect.

Now, sat in his wheelchair like it was an ancient throne carved out of oak and willow, Billy had never looked more like a chief than now.

"Once, we were a small people." His voice rasped over the fall and crash of the waves. The hairs on Beau's neck stood tall. "We were fishermen and builders, working with our hands and our strength to survive the long summers and longer winters. It was a hardship, but one we endured nobly, and with feeling." 

A few of the older people in the crowd, Old Quil Ateara and Sue Clearwater, were muttering and nodding their heads in agreement. 

"But we were small, and had many enemy tribes surrounding us. As our valley was fertile, many looked to claim it. In one such crisis, a great ability within our tribe was discovered, and with it came the rise of the first Great Spirit Chief, Kaheleha." He smiled, crowfeet rising in his skin. "Our warriors breathed in and out, and with the breath came out our spirits, leaving our bodies and joining as one in the spirit world. Able to call up the wind and animals of the wild, no tribe could match our strength. We crushed any who dared to intrude upon our lands and protected our children jealously."

A whoop of pride came up around Beau, and even though he had heard the story countless times before, he whooped with them.

Billy Black smiled indulgently. "For many decades, we lived in peace. Then came the last Great Spirit Chief, Taka Ahi, known for his wisdom and decisiveness in times of trouble. The people flourished under him, well-fed and content."

Beau mouthed along with the next line, eyes meeting Jacob's: "But there was one man, Utlapa, who was not so content."

Boos and hisses rang out around the bonfire, and Leah’s mother shushed loudly at them, eyes narrowed.

Billy ignored this, and continued: "He was a powerful warrior, but a grasping one as well. He desired the expansion of the Quileute people, thinking us superior over those who did not have the ability to travel through the spirit world. He wanted war, he wanted bloodshed. And because in the spirit world, everyone is aware of everyone else's thoughts, he could not hide this reddish ambition. Taka Ahi threw him from the tribe, to Utlapa's displeasure, and forbid him from returning."

"But Utlapa was cunning and so waited until Taka Ahi left to his resting place, the place where he would leave his body and travel into the spirit world. Once Taka Ahi's soul had gone a great distance, Utlapa slit his own throat, released his spirit, and invaded Taka Ahi's defenseless body.

"Taka Ahi's spirit was trapped, unable to regain what had been lost, and was forced to watch as Utlapa took on his position as chief, and nearly drove his tribe to ruin. Fortunately, Utlapa was unable to embark on his ambitions of a spirit army, for if he allowed others to enter the spirit world, his treachery would be discovered. But he ruined the Quileute tribe in other ways, refusing to work alongside his fellow men, taking a second, and then a third wife, despite the fact that Taka Ahi's first still lived.

"It is not a natural thing to live without a body. For many years Taka Ahi was stuck in an agonizing limbo and one night, in desperation, pleaded with a beautiful wolf to make room for him in its body. The wolf acquiesced and the spirit of the wolf and the man melded together to form one. Now in control of a body, Taka Ahi as a wolf traveled to his tribe. The people were afraid; Utlapa hid away with the children, of course. The men and women warriors ran towards the strange animal with spears and knives. But Taka Ahi refused to attack his brothers and sisters and instead retreated from them carefully, attempting to bark the songs of his people."

Someone in the back sang out a toe-curling verse in a howl and Billy smiled. "Yes, like that."

"Soon, the warriors realized that a spirit was guiding this strange wolf. An older warrior, a woman named Yut, decided to disobey Utlapa's forbiddance of entry into the spirit world and attempted to communicate with the wolf. Taka Ahi left the wolf for a moment and Yut discovered the truth.

"However, Utlapa had returned to see whether the strange wolf had been defeated yet. But when he entered the clearing to see Yut's body motionless, surrounded by her warrior siblings, he realized what was happening. In a rage, he screamed 'traitor' and leapt as Yut's spirit entered her body. With his hand covering her mouth, he slit her throat before she could reveal his treachery, and the warriors watched on in horror, unable to go against the wishes of their chief.

"Taka Ahi felt the screams of Yut's spirit as she left the earthly realm, and for a split second, the only feeling Taka Ahi felt was hate. Pure, unadulterated hate, and he entered the wolf's body, intent on tearing Utlapa apart with his own teeth. But this hate, this anger was the anger of a man. Too large, too human for the wolf, magic demanded that fur and claws peel back and reveal Taka Ahi's true form. The wolf shuddered and, to the amazement of the warriors, transformed into a man. Taka Ahi did not look the same as his old body, much more glorious and handsome than he ever had been in life. But his people, who had run with him in the spirit world years before, recognized him as the true Taka Ahi and Utlapa as the interloper.

"Taka Ahi, with the strength of a wolf and the rage of a man, crushed Utlapa where he stood, and the coward died, never to return to the living again. 

"The people rejoiced when they understood what had happened. Taka Ahi returned the young wives to their families, working to restore the tribe to its former glory. The only condition he kept from Utlapa's reign was the forbiddance of spirit travels. His time in the spirit world had enlightened Taka Ahi to the dangers of becoming trapped in a world not meant to be traversed by human souls.

"From then on Taka Ahi was more than either wolf or man. His people christened him Taka Ahi, the Great Wolf. Ever since assuming his human form he ruled for many years as he did not age. Only when the tribe was endangered would he once again don his wolf skin and hunt down any who threatened his family. The people dwelled once more in peace. Taka Ahi fathered many children—his firstborn daughter was christened Yut in honor of the woman-warrior who had attempted to save him all those years ago. However, some of his children found that they too were able to don wolf-skins as their father had before.

"Some of Taka Ahi's children became wolf warriors with their father, and once they embraced their wolves, they ceased to age. Others who did not care for the transformation gave up their wolf spirits. These men and women began to age again and the tribe discovered that if a wolf-warrior gave up his or her ability they would once again be able to grow old. Taka Ahi had fallen deep in love with his third wife and pledged after having lived three lifetimes that he would die once she did. He had found in her his matching soul and would never part from her, or so he pledged."

Billy took a breath, brow furrowed. "And that is how the magic has come to us, as a tribe and as a people."

The quiet fell, cloaking everything. Beau had heard this story many times before, whispered around campfires just like this one, written about in the tribe’s histories in the Reservation library, but never before had he felt the way he did now, sitting, surrounded by what felt like ancient spirits and polished bone.

His skin crackled with heat. He felt dazed, like he was in a dream where you knew were dreaming, but couldn't wake up no matter how hard you tried. He coughed violently into his elbow, throat dry and aching. He swiped a hand over his hot brow and wondered whether Jacob knew where they kept the water bottles around here as the air thickened and dampened his ability to think.

"Beau?" The voice was slow and thick, like syrup. It was his grandmother, for once taller than him because he was sitting down. "Beau, are you alright?"

He licked his lips, desperately thirsty.

"Jacob! Jacob, cub, give Beau a hand. He looks a bit peaky," Alaqua called out, and Beau swayed as a heavy hand gripped his upper arm and pulled him up.

"What?" he said, tongue swollen and clumsy.

"Dude, are you drunk?" Jacob's face was a russet blur, Beau's eyes tearing up like when he had allergies, making everything clouded.

"N-no," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm—I'm really thirsty."

Cool fingers laid against his cheeks and forehead, and he mumbled something like go away, swatting at the air. "You're burning up, baby," his grandmother said. "Jacob, get him to my cabin, he's in no condition to be on the road." His grandmother’s cabin, Beau thought, only a few hundred meters away, up on the cliffs above their heads.

"Yes, ma'am," he heard and then Beau was being pulled away from the shore, his feet like leaden blocks beneath him, thighs trembling from the strain. He did feel a little drunk, in a way, a kind of lightheadedness coming over him, blurring up his thoughts, and distracting him from putting one foot in front of the other. He swallowed hard, painfully around what felt like scabs in the back of his throat, and if he could've he would've reached back and scratched, scratched until the ache went away and wetness dribbled down into his stomach.

“Goddammit,” he heard grunted lowly, and then he was being hoisted up into strong arms, head lolling to the side. Jacob was never going to let him live this down. He thought, mildly confused, _since when did Jacob get this buff?_

“Since when did you get this light?” he heard, breath puffing against the outer shell of his ear, before being princess-carried into the house.

Then he was being laid out in cool, soft sheets, and he moaned faintly, sweat budding on his forehead, sliding down his neck, and pooling around the dips of his collarbones.

"Jesus, what's wrong with him?" Jacob sounded far away, voice a distant cry in the night.

His grandmother fed him chips of ice to suck on and he groaned as water soothed down and dripped coolly into his empty stomach. "He's—I didn't think it would happen so quick," he heard muttered.

“I think,” and then Jacob stopped. Beau could feel him sway, shadows moving above him. “I think I might be coming down with something too.”

“I’m calling your father,” Beau’s grandmother said softly and then everything faded as Beau’s eyes slipped shut and blackness reigned.

   


...

   


His dreams were strange that night. Large dogs snapping at his heels, driving him to the cliffs, a creature rising from the ink-black of the ocean, dripping deep berry ink over the sand, with the body of a wolf and Jacob's face. And then the scene changed and he was surrounded by the tall whirling woods, white bodies flashing between the trees, amber eyes peeking out of the darkness and pinning him to the spot.

He tried to talk, in the dream, but his throat wouldn't work.

Periodically, his eyes would flutter and he would wake, his grandmother pressing cold towels to his forehead and neck and belly. "Shhh," she said, "Calm down, baby."

"Where's Jacob?" he mouthed, wheezing, and she smiled a little. Her eyes were like ink.

"He got sick, too, baby, but don't worry about that right now." She gave him more ice chips before he sunk back down into sleep, but not before she said, "Your daddy's here, Beau."

More trees, always trees. Edward's eyes. Maybe Alice's? But then they darkened into something swirling red, eyes that he'd never seen before but instinctually recognized, placed above a snarling mouth, teeth like a bat's.

Sometimes, he thought he saw his grandmother, chanting something in a language he couldn’t understand, words rounder and older than English, her hands smearing cinnamon-colored paint into his skin, ashes over the curves of his cheekbones, spiraling symbols into the plush of his stomach. Incense crackled in the corner of the room and smelled like nutty cloves, filling up the air.

Mist curled around his limbs and tightened inexplicably, and he would sink down into darkness once more.

   


…

   


When he next woke up, it was dark, the night cool against his burning skin, and Edward was standing in front of his open window, the wind soft and slow. His hair coiffed perfectly, wrapped up in a cashmere sweater, he looked exactly how he had when he'd walked out of Beau's life only a week ago.

"Go away," Beau mumbled, disgusted with himself. "Get out of my head, goddammit." He turned on his side, ignoring the vision.

It spoke, voice silky, "I'm sorry." He could hear it moving closer, clothes rustling softly, the mattress dipping with its weight, and icicles broke out across Beau's skin when he felt a hand, curving over his hip. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Beau laughed harshly in his throat, and to his endless frustration started coughing. He grabbed its hand, deliciously cool against his fever-flush. "No, it's my fault, god." He coughed again, rasping. Scabs in his throat. "I was stupid enough..." He broke off, clutching at the thing's fingers, pressing them against his lips briefly, and then he threw them away. "Won't happen again."

A nose brushed over the back of Beau's neck, icy. The vision was leaning over him, a big cool expanse of skin walling him in. He felt it take a deep breath, light puffs and deep sighs ruffling his sweat-slick curls. "If this fever is what I think it is, this may be the last time I ever see you." The voice was breaking, big hands pressing down against his shoulders, and Beau frowned against his pillow.

"Isn't that what you wanted? To never see me again?" he mumbled and heard a sharp, pained gasp in his ear.

The door opened. He knew it was his grandmother, but he fell into sleep as a harsh wind whipped against his cheekbone, the window slamming as it closed.

He was alone.

   


...

   


The sun woke him up next, sweet warmth against his cheek, his pillow turning gold in the morning light. His tongue was still two sizes too big and his eyes were crusted with sleep sand, but he was able to sit up and sip at the sweet broth his grandmother brought to him hungrily.

"How long was I asleep?" he grunted, memories scattered like pieces of a broken mirror.

"Two days or so," she murmured.

"Did Jacob catch what I had?" He felt vaguely guilty about that, but that's what Jacob got for making him go to the bonfire in the first place.

Alacqua stilled. "Not exactly. A variant of it, maybe. He got it worse than you did, I think."

Beau took a breath and let it out, running a hand through his tangled hair. "Too bad." He squinted at nothing, his entire body aching.

She stood, gathering shawls around her bony shoulder, blinking down at him softly. She sharpened suddenly, eyes going old and hard. "Did—did you dream, while you were asleep, baby?"

Beau shrugged, sipping at his soup. "It's kind of a blur." That was a bit of a lie. He didn't want to talk to anyone about Edward at the moment, let alone his grandmother who believed deeply in the power of dreams, in their meanings and their prophecies. "I'm sure if any of it's important, I'll remember."

She nodded, softening, passing a loving hand through his curls.

Beau sighed at the gentle touch. "Is... is Dad here?" he said, remembering distantly his grandmother's voice telling him that.

"Yes, sweetheart, he is." Alaqua smiled, amused. "Poor boy’s been parked on the couch since the first night, actually. Lemme get him for you." She left, and the moment the door closed behind her, Charlie burst in, curls awry, tie askew. Beau didn't doubt he was still wearing the same clothing he'd had on the day of the bonfire.

"Hi, Dad," Beau said sheepishly.

Charlie would've looked amused if he wasn't so relieved. "Goddammit, Beau, you need to stop this sh— _stuff_. You're gonna give your old man a heart attack."

Beau grinned cheekily, slurping down a rice noodle. "Mom would've killed you first."

Charlie plopped down on the bed next to him, gusting out a sigh. "My mother would’ve gotten to me before Renee could fly down to Forks, don’t you worry Beau." He eyed his son. "I'm starting to think you do these things on purpose, you know."

"Who, me?" said Beau, defensive. "It's not my fault a random virus just decided to snack on _me_. 

"I dunno," Charlie sniffed. "I find it awfully suspicious the same night you come down with something so does Jacob. Have you two been.... _drinking_ from the same water bottle?" His voice was thick with innuendo.

Beau threw his pillow at him, mildly grossed out. "Dad, you're disgusting."

Charlie laughed at him until Beau threw another pillow and hit his target in the head. "Go take a shower, for God's sake. It _smells_  diseased in here."

Beau hemmed and hawed, but in the end felt pretty gross and it didn't take much to convince him to gather up some clean clothes and head into the bathroom. His legs were still a little shaky, but in comparison with the way he'd nearly collapsed the other night, he was in tiptop shape.

So much so that he stared at himself suspiciously in the mirror. He did a double take. For a second—he could've sworn the person in the mirror wasn't him. 

"What the hell happened to you?" he muttered.

There—he didn't _look_ different at all, if a little flushed, once he focused his eyesight a little more. His hair was a mess, his throat was a little swollen from coughing so much. But when he stared at himself, pupils blown a bit from the bright light, his skin prickled uncomfortably and his stomach squeezed a little bit. There was something there that hadn’t been there the morning prior. Something intangible, but undeniably _there_.

"Jesus."

   


...

   


"Are you sure you're alright to travel, baby?" Alaqua fretted, wringing her liver-spotted hands. She was standing on her wooden porch, having already shooed Charlie off, laden with Tupperwares of broth and sweet breads. “Thanks ma,” Charlie had said gratefully and kissed her cheek before running to heat up the car.

Beau was wrapped up in one of her silky blue shawls, a beanie shoved on top of his curls, and he wore an exasperated, if not affectionate expression as he looked down at her. "Yes, Grandma, I'm sure," he insisted. He pecked the air around her cheeks, but she grabbed him and smooched his forehead.

"None of that," she said, cutely stern, grabbing him up in a bear hug and patting his stomach. "You be careful now, baby. Drink lots of liquids, stay out of the cold."

"Yes'm." He gave her one last kiss before trampling down the little dirt road to the patrol car where his dad waited patiently. Alaqua's house was on the edge of one of the more popular jumping sites for cliff-diving, the crash and sway of the ocean laying directly under her little cabin, so it wasn't that uncommon to see some of the Rez boys loitering around, looking for the perfect place to tumble into the waves.

But still, when Beau looked out and saw Sam Uley staring at the house with an unreadable expression, his arms crossed like he was looking for a fight, he felt shivers crawl down in his spine and settle like worms at the dip of his lower back.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Blue Spirit by Jeremy Zuckerman. From the Avatar the Last Airbender Soundtrack. 
> 
> Also, within the story of Taka Ahi, we've changed the part about how only males inherit the spirit wolf. Women becoming wolves is pretty common, where before in the books Leah was an anomaly. 
> 
> Yes, her menstrual cycle will still halt, as when people become wolves they stop aging. However, once she finds her imprinted and relinquishes the wolf, her cycle will begin again and she can make bebies. If she wants to. 
> 
> Also, this chapter marks a tonal shift for the fic. We'll be getting into some of the more serious plot points soon.
> 
> Happy Holidays!
> 
> And also yes, Beau is all healed up and his ankle is no longer sprained. Yay!


	9. Interlude Part I: Le Moulin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward pines, Beau's pissed, and Carlisle needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we're late. Like, irresponsibly so, but in our defense, it is our junior year and we're really busy freaking out over Regents, AP Testing, and our future. We're very sorry we've put this on the backburner for so long, but hopefully Edward's thoughts make up for it a bit. Also, tomorrow we'll be updating the second part of the chapter as both a treat and an apology. Love yous, and we'll try not to be severe disappointments in the future. Mwah.

"Do you have _any_ idea how badly this could've gone, at any time, at any place?"

Carlisle was normally a rather calm man, no matter what. He rarely became angry or flustered, no matter the emergency at the hospital, no matter how annoying Rosalie's demands became, no matter how alarming Emmett's occasional bouts of stupidity. But now his jaw was set, his mouth a pale thin line that dared Edward to speak before he was finished. He'd given into a purely human instinct and now was pacing the entirety of the living room, raking fingers through his normally pristine hair.

"Yes, Carlisle," Edward said clearly, determined not to mumble. He'd realized his mistake very early on, but that wasn't the point of it, was it? He'd recognized his failing, but still continued on with it. 

 _We could've been exposed,_ Carlisle's mind hissed, recoiling with horror at the very idea of having to relocate, having to disappear in a world where invisibility was becoming more and more impossible. Visions of the Volturi arriving in a cloud of slaughter and gore, danced in his head, each scene bloodier and bloodier than the last. _No matter how much control you have, Edward, it means nothing in the face of a singer._

Edward understood this, deeply, and never in his long unlife had he ever assumed himself to be reckless when it came to these types of things.

And then Beauregard Swan had happened.

A pretty young thing with a mop of chocolate curls and thick black glasses, he'd stepped into Edward's life in a whirl of cinnamon and cherries. That smell, it was a thick syrup that made Edward's stomach clench with longing and his teeth sharpen with hunger. A kind of hunger he'd never experienced before, not even in his early days as a fledgling, where anything that walked was a potential meal.  And even more puzzling, Beau’s mind was clouded to Edward. A cool pond to Edward in a roiling ocean, the silence cloaked the boy wherever he went and Edward had followed. 

"The fact that you'd even entertain the notion of a normal relationship with your singer—" Carlisle stopped and shook his head, stupefied. "And then—bringing him here! Unsupervised! Without even your siblings to stop you should something go wrong?"

"I was in control," Edward snapped, unable to stay quiet. "I'd been practicing, Carlisle, I knew—"

"No, you did not _know!"_ Carlisle growled. "Especially not after the incident in March! Edward, we were clear that you were to stay away from Beauregard Swan."

" _You_ were clear," Edward annunciated. "And I thought I made myself clear when I told you that I'm 107 years old and who I spend my time with is my prerogative, not yours."

Carlisle sighed, despite not needing breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he could actually feel pain. It was these little human ticks that drove Edward up the wall—it was hysterical that Carlisle thought he could still be both the monster under the bed and the silver knight in the morning. That he could play vampire and human both. "It's not that I don't think he's a lovely young man, Edward, but Charlie Swan is also a wonderful man and I would hate to see him lose his son because of your recklessness."

Edward huffed a bitter laugh in the back of his throat. "Too late, Carlisle. Beau is my friend, one of the few I have in the world, and I very much doubt you'd be able to keep me away from him even if you tried."

Carlisle stared at Edward. "Only a friend, Edward? Only a friend?"

Edward sucked in a breath. "Of course, Carlisle, only a friend. I'm not—I'm _not gay_."

"You think that means anything?" Carlisle turned away, went to the window, and stared outside like he'd somehow read the answers there in the trees. “You come into contact with the thoughts of humans everyday. You should know better than anyone that sexuality isn't two boxes on a piece of paper, Edward. It's fluid, it's changeable, and as much as you'd like to deny that for yourself, someday soon you're going to recognize that this narrow-mindedness isn't going to do you any favors with your 'friend'."

Edward clamped his jaw shut, and Carlisle's mind told him very clearly that he wasn't in the mood to be messed with.

"I love you, Edward, and I respect your decisions deeply." Carlisle turned, forehead lined with disappointment. "But when your decisions infringe upon the safety of our family, I need to take steps. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Edward didn't have to read his sire's mind to understand what was about to happen. "Carlisle, please—"

"No, Edward." His voice was like stone, and he turned to face Edward, his eyes, usually ever so calm, flashing a deep angry black. "Start packing. You head to Alaska tomorrow."

....

Alaska was coldly beautiful, much like the sisters who lived there. They were pale, gorgeous things, with glittering topaz eyes, Tanya especially.

She smiled sweetly when she saw him coming up the drive, Esme having called ahead. "Oh, Edward. Two visits in just as many months? Darling, it must be fate."

Edward stormed past her into the cottage, anger roiling within his chest, but not at Tanya, not really. The Denali tribe had always welcomed the Cullens with extraordinary hospitality, but Alaska grated on Edward's nerves like nowhere else, the sky a dead gray slate above him, iced over snow crunching under-boot, the little smile in the corner of Tanya's mouth proclaiming his lack of self-control. His inability to regulate himself when it came to Beau Swan.

"What was it this time?" she hurried after him, practical snow boots tapping on hardwood flooring. "Was it your singer again?" Her mind was a cloud of pink cotton-candy and cherry lipstick, and really, Tanya was a sweet girl, but she was hitting all the wrong buttons at the moment.

Edward snarled inside his head, frustration pulsing like a heartbeat, but outwardly smiled sweetly, fangs itching to drop.

_God he's so handsome, I wish—_

He turned his mind away from hers, a pang of guilt stuttering inside his ribcage, irritation dissipating like dust in the face of her innocent infatuations.

It didn't take long for her to figure out the source of his mood, not with Alice whispering in her ear a thousand miles away in Forks.

She came to him late at night, hair mussed from hunting. Jealousy was sharp in the air, her heart stinking with it, but also a kind of resignation that settled and cloaked around them, a half-century of subtle rejection coming to a precipice.

"Do you love him?"

"I'm not gay," he deflected, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the very notion.

A slim eyebrow lifted, hovering near a perfectly curled hairline. "That doesn't answer the question," she echoed Carlisle unknowingly.

The silence echoed around, fraught with tension Edward hated. Tanya sighed purely for the emotion of it, breath too cold to dramatically cloud in the cold Alaskan air the way a human's would.

"That silence does, though," she spoke again, and he wanted to deny it again, but he could hear her thoughts, clearer and softer than before: _it doesn't matter what you say or what you think, darling, only what you feel. And even if you don't love that boy right now, the point is you could. You couldn't with me or Rose, but you could with him._

...

Forks' early spring air was a balm to his skin in comparison to the numbness of the Alaskan wilderness. Alice hugged him hard before he'd even passed the threshold, skinny little arms crushing his broader shoulders, her head bumping hard against the jut of his chin.

"Sorry, Edward," she breathed into his collarbone before pulling away. Her eyes were bright gold from a recent hunt, but saddened, mouth downturned. "I tried to call, you were already on the plane."

He dumped his duffel bag by the door, confused, picking up on her mind whispering: _I saw something, Edward, I'm sorry._

He was about to ruffle through her mind when Rosalie floated in on a wave of blackberry brambles and satin perfume.

 _Hey, your boyfriend just dumped you_ —pity, sour and sweet, two edged on his tongue— _for a La Push dog, the irony._

Ice washed down his spine in a shower of sudden terror, and he stared at them, uncomprehending, until Alice reached out, fingers brushing against his shirtsleeves, and said, aloud, "I had a vision late last night. Beau, in one of the beach houses—"

Edward broke away, interrupting her words, but he couldn't stop her thoughts from floating in, tangling around the edges of his consciousness, whispering: _he's going to go through the Fever, Edward, you've lost him, I'msososorry—_

He ran, burst out the front door in a blur of white and copper, feet going so fast he thought he felt smoke hissing lowly in his wake, the same way his Volvo did when he stepped on the gas and peeled out. He scoured through the trees, leaping over roots and shrubs and spruces, and had he been human his eyes would've streamed so severely he would've blinded himself. As it was, he was gasping even though he didn't need breath, his throat worked with something like vomit, his heart ached like he still had one—  
  
He stopped, so suddenly a rush of wind battered against the foliage surrounding him, thick green leaves flattened against their branches.

The meadow remained unchanged, grass wet with recently sprinkled rainwater, soft lavender and crocuses peeking out from between the green. Edward took a few steps forward, staring. Once, when he and Beau had been watching a horrific action film in a theatre 20 years too old, he'd thought he'd bring the boy here one day. Just for a lazy afternoon outside, lounging on their bellies between the bright summer blooms, Beau chomping on sandwiches and sipping milky tea, Edward's stomach warm with mountain lion blood.

That would never happen now.

And, yes, subconsciously, when he was in Alaska he'd come to terms with the idea that he would never be able to interact with Beau as a friend again. Too many risks, too much disapproval from his family, too many situations ending with Beau as a shriveled husk on the ground, bled out and glassy-eyed.

But now—there was a wall, one that he himself had built. A wall that no one would be able to cross, not Edward, not Beau, not even Carlisle. A wolf and a vampire cannot be, never, just because of simple biological impulses that Carlisle had once explained to him in laymen terms.

"A wolf and a vampire can never be," he'd said, in that solemn way of his. "Biologically, wolves and vampires are on the opposite ends of the genetic spectrum. Two sides of the same coin, forever entangled, forever battling. Natural enemies. One could never stand the other in close quarters."

Was that what he and Beau were now? Just staples of their species, controlled completely and utterly by their biology, dictated so completely that now they wouldn't be able to look at each other without gagging? In despair, Edward wondered whether that strawberry-cream scent that he had come to crave had already rotted into thick, smuttish poison. He had come to crave that scent, as much as it tortured him, the way a child craved pastries, or an addict craved Vicodin.

He raced back to the house faster than he'd ever moved before, and his mouth was already moving before he'd stopped, nearly crashing into one of Alice's clothing racks in his haste.

"When will it happen?" he blurted, and she looked at him, eyes like dewdrops.

He heard her mind speak the answer a millisecond before her mouth echoed it.

"Today."

...

He'd hesitated for only a second near the border. He knew the wolves were gathering near the edge of the cliffs, deep into Quileute territory, too distracted with their stories and their food to think of patrolling the borders—not in such a time of peace, the line firmly drawn between 'ours' and 'theirs' in their heads. That's where they slipped up, assuming the 'evil' vampires wouldn't dare.

Edward stepped over and into the rank. He wrapped a scarf around his nose, eyes already burning despite being unable to stream or water from irritation. The hazy sun had already sunk beneath the surface, stars splashed against the clear night sky, like God was laughing at him from those heavens that Edward would never be able to enter.

The grandmother's cottage did not stink of dog as potently as the rest of the beaches did, but still, there was a spice in the air, a needle-like perfume that could've become uncomfortable had Edward not been expecting something much worse. But no, there was no wet stink that clung to the back of nose, only hot spice that made him pause. He'd never felt anything like it. It reminded him of a time in which he and Carlisle had packed up and driven all the way to the old Salem site in Westchester, New England.

But it was stupid to think of that in a time like this.

He was scared to breathe, scared to open his mouth and be repulsed by something he had always known to be sweet and welcoming.

Instead he scented the echo of the same strawberry merengue he'd known and loved. He followed it to the window that faced west, overlooking the cliffs and the wave-battered beaches below. The wind had begun to screech, stinging Edward's cheeks, and causing the waves to crash wildly on the edges of the cliffs below, swallowing the sandy dunes whole. He didn't mind the wind burn. It wasn't like he wasn't already chilled from the inside out. He slipped in through the window, feet treading lightly upon the sill. Edward immediately scented a slight difference in the air.

Beau's form, prone on the bed below, gave off an odor essentially the same as before, but laced with the distinct taste of illness that only those deep in the throes of feverish dreams did. Edward stood, the muslin curtains billowing around him, for what felt like an eternity, drinking in the sight and sound of what he craved most before the obvious struck him: Beau was not asleep.

Fear lanced through him immediately. What was Beau thinking, seeing him here, he must think the worst, he must think I'm some obsessed stalker— _oh_. Edward finally registered Beau's reaction, or rather lack thereof, and noted his glazed eyes.

Beau was a wreck.

His normally pale cheeks were flushed a deep pink, not out of embarrassment, but out of fever, sweat slicking his forehead and curling his hair wildly. Edward paused, unmoving, as a fresh wave of sharp edged cream washed over him, red berries on his tongue. It was still delicious, still sweet, not at all disgusting, no trace of dog on the boy. Yet.

Edward crept closer, eyes sharpening on Beau. The side of his blushing face was pressed to his pillow, thick lashes swooping coyly over the jut of a cheekbone, longish fingers sprawled over cream linen.

God, he was lovely.

Edward had done this once before, shamefully, when Beau's scent was still an irresistible beacon, flashing wildly to him like a will-o'-the-wisp in the night. Beau had been asleep then, but, even so, more alert than he was now. Edward remembered, with a tinge of amusement, the boy flailing out of bed and nearly decapitating his side table's lamp.

Poor thing. He sobered. The boy looked delirious, frowning at Edward, mildly confused, but not threatened or as frightened as he'd been that other night. A curl fell into one eye, caught in thick lashes, fluttering prettily whenever Beau blinked.

He mumbled something, mouth slurring too thickly for even Edward's vampiric ears to pick up, and turned onto his side, obviously dismissing him. Edward would've been offended, but it was obvious Beau thought his nightly visitor was a fever-dream, something ignorable.

"I'm sorry." The guilt was tangible. It pushed him forward physically towards the figure lying prone on the bed. Ed couldn't help himself, and on some level, he realized what he was doing was dreadfully rude and intrusive, but he sat down on the mattress, hands itching to touch that unbearably soft skin. And he did.

Beau's hip was thick and soft, covered by a thin layer of laundry-stretched cotton, and Edward squeezed lightly, heart panging when he remembered that this might be the last time he'd be able to do this. Berries and cream was thick in the air, but oddly Edward's thirst for it was absent, receded in the face of his agony, in his realization that he would never be able to touch again. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to himself. He cleared his throat and louder, implored, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Beau laughed harshly in his throat, and to Edward's immediate concern started coughing. He grabbed Edward's other hand, and placed it against his flushed neck, deliciously hot as coals against Edward's chilled skin. "No, it's my fault, god." He coughed again, rasping. Edward felt wildly for a pulse, fearfully wishing he could do something, anything to help. "I was stupid enough..." _Stupid enough to what?!_ Edward had never had to wish he could read someone's thoughts until he had met Beau.

Beau broke off, clutching at Edward's hand on his hip and then he threw it away. "Won't happen again."

What won't happen again?!

 _You know what._ A voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like Alice, answered back.

He moved closer viscerally, laid on his side behind Beau, and buried his face in that smooth neck—felt the heart thrum hotly underneath his cold lips, felt the thick curls tickling his forehead lightly. He'd never been so thankful he was dead, never been so thankful that he was unable to sob wretchedly and make a fool of himself, even if Beau believed this was a dream.

Edward brushed his nose brushed over the back of Beau's neck, sticky, warm and undeniably human. He couldn't help himself. If this was to be the last time... He couldn't even bring himself to think it. If this was the last time he would see Beau he would take what he could get. Edward gave into his impulses and wrapped his arms around Beau's shoulders, caging him in against his chest in a desperate hug, but careful not to smother him. Beau relaxed against him either not minding or not noticing, an uncurling of warm muscle and skin. Edward wondered if he was even still awake. He took a deep breath, sighing at the richness of Beau's scent in the air. The curls lying soft against the nape of Beau's neck fluttered prettily. 

Edward gathered his courage. "If this fever is what I think it is, this may be the last time I ever see you." His voice was breaking, even if he wasn't sure that Beau could hear it.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Beau's soft intonation, not accusatory, but sincere, cut into him and Edward gasped. If Beau could even think that he wanted this—

He opened his mouth to respond, _No, absolutely not_ , but was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The old lady, most likely. He speeded out the window, the bang as it closed probably audible from inside. He waited outside, pressed up against the wall for the sound of the woman checking the lock on the window, but it never came. He heard her come to the window and look out for a long moment, but she did not do anything else besides tend to Beau for a few minutes and leave silently.

As soon as she left Edward let himself back into the room, this time closing the window silently and sitting on the sill next to it. He would wait all night, memorizing Beau's face if this was all the time he had left. He could still feel Beau's heat pressed against him, a phantom of the real thing trembling inside him, and he covered his eyes with a hand, the smell of strawberries lifting from his palm.

There would be hell to pay in the morning, the wolves' rage implacable until Edward was punished for his transgressions against the treaty, but nothing seemed less unimportant in that moment. Nothing was more important than Edward's dear friend, shivering and suffering and wrapped up in blankets that smelled like magic.

...

He saw Beau in school the next few days, impossibly, frustratingly normal.

There was no retched stink of wet dog, no snarling, wild mouth, no irrational bursts of anger or fear. But there was something different about the Swan boy, something that hadn't been there before. His curls seemed shinier, eyes brighter than usual, mouth more apt to smile. The others seemed to take notice too. Mike Newton and Angela Weber squinted confusedly at their friend as they walked through the crowded hallways. 

Normally, Edward was the pinnacle of patience. No thought, no matter how simple or disgusting, irritated him. No klutzy human error ever prickled at him. No pompous teacher had ever made him grit his teeth. And yet it seemed everything about this godforsaken day had conspired to have him clawing at the walls, roaring at these humans, tearing into those students who leveled resentful or lustful looks at him.

Even sweet Angela, who possessed one of the kindest minds among Forks High, scratched at the edge of his senses. It infuriated him, knowing he had to eavesdrop on her thoughts just to know how Beau was feeling, or what he was doing. Knowing she had the ability to tap Beau on the shoulder and ask after his wellbeing, while Edward was forced to skulk along the edges of Mike Newton's mind to glimpse a meager smile on that petal mouth, scavenging for scraps while they sipped from the source. Because he'd given up that right, hadn't he? He'd ceded his ability to look after Beau the moment they'd touched—when he'd held his hand sitting on that bench and rejected him.

Edward lurked around Beau's route through the school, knowing that he would notice. Beau was well aware that his own classes weren't anywhere close by. Biology was a special type of torture. They sat together, but there might as well have been a canyon between them, they were so distant. When lab rolled around Beau escaped to work with Angela and her partner, leaving Edward to work by himself. They never spoke.

It was during one Bio period that a realization hit Edward.

Beau's pen clattered to the ground and Edward, lightning-quick, dove sideways and snatched it up before Beau could. Sitting back up, pen in hand, he nearly banged into Beau who had begun to bend over for it. They sat inches away from each other, neither breaking eye contact. Edward could count every chocolate eyelash, every freckle and nearly lost himself in the openness of Beau's expressive eyes. If Edward had a beating heart, it would've been stuttering with nerves.

Carefully, so as to no break the fragile moment, Edward placed his hand on Beau's, and uncurled his fingers gently so his palm faced upwards. He slipped the pen into Beau's outstretched hand and closed it gently with both of his, the boy's skin searing hot against his own. Beau jerked away at this, the unexpected contact startling him away. But the sudden movement washed his scent over Edward, the taste of it filling his mouth every time he breathed.

Beau smelled like magic.

The milky scent Edward had known, had dreamed of, was the same as before the fever night. Except for the tiniest hint of something else. Something savory and dark that laced the very edges of Edward's super senses. It gave a warm spicy presence to Beau that hadn't been there before, something that glowed deep in Edward's chest.

"What are you doing?" The question rang out, whispered soft and incredulous, but it could've been a yell to Edward.

"Handing you back your pen," he answered automatically, mouth moving without his permission, and Beau snorted without amusement, lip curling slightly. Edward was startled. Beau had never been so cold to him before. But perhaps cold was the wrong word, implying bitterness, but this chill was different in the way that it layered itself around the human boy, a guarded cloak that shielded his eyes and twisted his mouth.

"Of course," and the conversation ended, Beau turning back to Mr. Varner's lecture, Edward still aloft and confused at the hard panging in his chest.

"Beau," he started, but the boy shushed at him, shaking his head.

They sat in silence for the rest of the period, Edward frozen and unseeing. He couldn't say how many times he opened his mouth, trying to form words that sat like little pebbles in a stream, trying to lift into the current, but too heavy to rise off the ground. The bell rang, shriller than usual, and the students filed out chatting. Mike Newton slung an arm over Beau's shoulder and shot Edward a look.

_Fucking bastard, why is he even here, why is he even sitting near Beau, that disgusting homophobic—_

Edward broke away from Newton's thoughts, whirling. For the first time, he wondered what it must've looked like, that day in the courtyard. Beau's hand, hot and soft against his stone one, a rejection equally soft as that hand. And then going to Alaska immediately afterwards, absolute radio silence, a cold blistering rejection in every definition of the word.

No wonder Beau didn't wish to speak with him. Wasn't that what he had wanted? To set Beau free? He wondered, not for the first time, if he had made the right decision in listening to Carlisle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title Song: Le Moulin by Yann Tiersen (Translation: The Mill)


	10. Interlude Part II: Claire de Lune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uley appears, Alaqua talks, Edward listens and regrets everything.

The sharp pinging of water dripping into the metal bowl of the kitchen sink.

The sound of Carlisle’s queen sliding on the chess table as Esme audibly strategized a way to take his castle.

Rosalie and Emmett drag racing 500 meters away from the house sent an irksome roar with unpredictable crescendos towards Edward's bedroom.

Alice's mind frankly blared with the sound of Smashing Pumpkins coming out of the tiny earphones she was wearing. 

_"Be ashamed of the mess you've made, my eyes never forget you see, behind me..._  
_Quiet! I am sleeping!"_

A book falling off of Alice's bed. _Thump_.

_Ping!_ The sink again.

_Vrooom_. Rosalie rushing past in her fiery convertible.

_Th-thump. Swish-swish. Th-thump. Swish-swish._ The load of laundry that Alice had put in 10 minutes before was just finishing the wash cycle and was about to enter the dreaded rinse cycle.

A staccato laugh from the library where his parents played chess.

_Ping!_

The hum of the radiator, the boiler--frankly unnecessary (Ping!) for 6 vampires, but Esme insisted the warmth made her feel more human. Edward commiserated.

_Ping!_

_Th-thump._

Jasper's clothes rustling, his shoulders hunching as he takes aim, then BOOM! CLUNK! The can he had lined up out back goes flying, no match for his double barrel rifle. Frankly overkill, but (Ping!) it's still better than Jasper taking out his anger on the local human population.

_Ping!_

_Th-thump. Swish-swish._

_Vroooooooom_.

_BOOM!-CLUNK!_

_Ping!_

_"Quiet! I am sleeping..."_

_Ping!_

"ENOUGH!"

Edward bolted upright from his position lying on his couch and ripped his own "noise-canceling" headphones off. It seemed they didn't quite standup to vampire-level hearing, nor vampire level strength since the force of his throw sent them flying, tearing the fragile cord connecting them to his Walkman. He stood heaving, as if he had been running, and needed to breathe at all.

Downstairs he heard Esme and Carlisle's minds turn to him in concern before making their conclusions and pulling back toward their game once more.

Already regretful, he picked up the broken headphones from where they had fallen, thankful that he hadn't accidentally damaged his CD player. It was the one thing he'd kept from their last move.

Edward didn't mind the noise, usually. Years with vampire-level super-hearing had him accustomed to tuning out whatever was needed whenever the world grated too much. It was more the absence of a certain kind of noise that bothered him. All day, every day Edward could hear the sounds of daily life, of his family. Yet, at home, he barely heard any proof of life. Real life. Not a single heartbeat jumped out at him, not even the single chambered thump of an insect. It seemed every creature in the vicinity knew what kind of _family_ they were.

He opened his window and jumped out, speeding without thought to the meadow. All of a sudden, the sounds of life jumped out at him once more--the faint buzz of insects, the rustle of rabbits in the undergrowth, even the light taps of deer hoofs against damp earth. He sighed in relief. Asides from school, the meadow was the one place where he could relax among the living, and forget, if only for a little while, the monster he truly was. He lay down in the heath, closed his eyes and focused. The soft susurration of blood flowing through the veins of a rabbit. Edward wrinkled his nose, ignoring the call of the creature's veins. He refocused on the gentle tinkling of the nearby stream, periodically interrupted by the splash of a trout, heard the creaks and groans of an old beech that housed a pair of marsh hawks, just returned from their journey south for the winter. A white moth fluttered through the budding flowers of the heath, stalked by a clumsy-footed fox pup, his mother lurking nearby. The pup was less than 100 meters from where Edward lay, stiller than the trees that swayed gently above him like dancing giants. May gloried around him and all was tranquil.

He smelled them first, the gagging odor of dog and blood and rotten fur, but they weren't doing anything to mask their footsteps either, unfamiliar bodies rustling through the forest.

Edward didn't bother getting up, only lifted his neck to see them emerge from the dark of the trees, beastly figures prowling as low to the ground as they could get, fluffed scruffs bristling in the quiet morning.

The fox pup, startled, loped on back to its den, unnoticed by the figures in the clearing.

The largest of the La Push wolves transformed, a disturbing sight at night, but skin-crawling in the daylight. Fur rippled and peeled back, bones popping, muscles flexing, melting, and then reforming. Sam Uley stood in the same place the alpha had, mocha-skinned, naked as the day he was born, eyes like ink spilling around before focusing in on Edward, still splayed on the ground.

"Wolf." Edward's voice was low, but carried high, and Uley's dogs snarled, curling around him and branching out, three, then four great beasts with devil-fangs and demon eyes. 

"Cullen," said Uley, a smile without substance on his lips. His mind was cool and smooth, like the surface of a lake, ever-shifting, but pliable all the same and he didn't even have to speak before Edward had caught his orders.

"You've been summoned to a tribunal for breaching the treaty," the damning words, spoken coolly. 

"I figured." Edward stared up at the cool expanse of blue sky, reflected in the alpha's mind.

"Breaking the treaty comes with consequences, as you well know." Uley was strangely respectful for a wolf, mind void of distaste, but curling with anger and possessiveness. _My land, this man, on my land,_  a ringing cry in Uley's mind, echoed and warped in his wolves'.

"Carlisle has been told, I assume." Edward stood slowly, brushing off stray bits of grass and petals that clung to him.

Uley dipped his head, an affirmative. "You are to come with us."

The four unchanged wolves showed their teeth gleefully, tails curling over their spines in delight. Dogs.

Edward smacked his lips against his teeth. He made no motion to try to escape. "So be it. Lead the way."

...

The old men and women were familiar, faces easily recognizable from visits to Forks. Casually dressed, they struck Edward more as fishermen, hunters, carpenters and craftsmen than chieftains of a legendary tribe of animal warriors. He'd seen more than one of the older women at the community center knitting. One face stuck out to him immediately, that of Billy Black, the former pack alpha and the current tribe leader. Jacob, Beau's best friend, was infamously Billy's son. Jacob was protective of Beau, but scrawny and long-haired, and Edward hoped, no matter how unlikely, that he would stay that way. For if Jacob turned, there was little chance he wouldn't succeed to turn Beau against Edward and his family forever.

Billy's face, sown with sunspots and stress-lines, was yet young, despite his wheelchair and gentile air, the same age as Charlie Swan. He was most _definitely_ younger than Edward. However simple biology was in Black's favor: Edward was self-aware enough to realize that he developmentally remained frozen in his adolescent maturity and still lacked the wisdom that graced Billy Black's face, pinched with concern.

Other elders sat reclined in folding lawn chairs around the ancient bonfire pit seemingly built into the side of the seashore cliff. The pit was empty, ashes washed away by a high-tide, but still the men and women clustered around, skin stained from hazelnut to darkest amber, perched like old forest gods in broad daylight. They didn't seem perturbed much at all by the circumstances. Harry Clearwater even chuckled deep in his chest at something Edward didn't catch as he and Sam's wolves arrived, the younger canines loping off to the side and crawling on their bellies in respect to the head chiefs.

"...smitten, yes indeed," Harry broke off at their entrance. "Edward Cullen." Harry turned and smiled at him without malice.

"Mr. Clearwater." Edward's hands twitched at his sides, awkward.

Clearwater had a friendly, open face, and his mind was much similar, bittersweet lemonade and earthy thyme. _He's young yet,_ and Edward pulled away from his thoughts, disgruntled. He had a least half a century on the man.

"Perhaps you could explain to these gentlemen why exactly you felt it was necessary to all of a sudden break the treaty?" Eyes glinted at him from all sides, some amused, others indignant, few legitimately angry. It was baffling. 

"Hmmm?" Harry's kind eyes looked at him expectantly.

Edward decided to go with the truth. "My friend was sick. I feared I would never see him again. I was wrong. I apologize deeply for the intrusion, but I felt compelled to see him one last time."

"Beauregard Swan?" Billy Black spoke up, mouth disapproving.

"Yessir." Edward shifted. "He went through a fever a week ago. I--I assumed he was Changing."

The crowd rippled, glances exchanged, but no murmurs, and Edward reached out, desperately confused.

 

_—Poor boy—_

 

_—Alaqua's blood through and through_

 

_—knew it_

 

But Billy's mind was a cluster of consonants and vowels, tangled together in a miasma of what Edward assumed was the Quileute language, rough and smooth on the tongue at the same time, vague impressions of images ( _Beau, slick with the fever, cheeks flushed, but then an older woman's face, eyes silver and stern, mouth forming Quileute words, Beau again, this time as a child, dripping river water in Black's threshold, mouth a pink, plum pout, Jacob laughing, "Princess")._

Edward retreated again, eyes squinting in frustration.

And then the women and men stood, inexplicably, some of the men even pulling off their hats. A woman stepped down from a cliff-side pathway, which looked too rocky for a woman of her age and height, and Edward knew this was Beau's grandmother, the same elder lady as the one in Billy's memories.

"Mama Swan," said Billy, the only one still sitting, and reached out for her hand. Billy looked incredibly young sitting next to this ancient creature, but she was sprightly, and pinched his cheek before he could dodge.

"Good morning, William," and Billy looked exasperated, like she'd been calling him that since he was a child. Liquid eyes looked at him, and Edward wondered whether this was what it was like to have his mind read. She seemed to peer straight through him, like he was a strange ghost that would disappear into the mist if she looked away. "Is this him, then?"

"Yes'm," Billy answered.

Mama Swan pursed her mouth. "Hah. Beau has some taste, then does he?" Her voice was soft and deep, a thick fog on a sticky summer night.

Billy's eyebrow twitched, but admirably he held his comments to himself. It didn't stop Edward from overhearing them and what 'Uncle Billy' thought of Beau's companionship with him.

"I'll take him," declared Mama Swan, and the men shifted, but said nothing, strangely. Some murmurings at the back were quickly silenced by an arched eyebrow from the older women and they acquiesced.

"Mama," began Billy, a protest forming on his mouth, but she shot him a look and repeated, "I will take him."

And that was that.

She was an old, hunched woman with nut brown skin and grey streaked hair, her eyes going filmy with cataracts, but Edward knew from experience that her fingers were hard, strong claws. She dragged him up the cliffs and out to the very woods he'd trespassed upon, hand clutching his bicep like a little one getting dragged out of church for squirming during the hymn. The wolves followed sedately, great fluffy creatures loping lazily at the edge of his senses, claws pattering on the leaf-covered ground.

"They don't mean any harm, the little brutes," she said, and despite her age her gate was as smooth as any young woman's. They walked for a time on a trodden path weaving through the trees, the grass worn away by old shuffling feet, narrow enough that Ed got the sense that only Alaqua walked it daily, no one else. They only stopped once they reached a relatively clear area but for a shackish house, old stained wood and windows cloudy with dust, a porch creaking under their footsteps as they ventured up the steps, a fat brick chimney poking the sky jauntily like a top-hat.

"You go on in, I'll be there in a hot second." Her eyes gleamed like miniature moons in a hazel-tint face.

Edward did as she asked.

The threshold reeked of kerosene and sugar, gasoline tainted silver-sweet in the air, and Edward's arms crawled with it. It got worse the further he went inside. Piquant magic swelled in the air, a brimming pulse, steeped into every crevice like pepper tea. Edward stopped breathing so he wouldn't have to taste it every time he opened his mouth.

"Sorry about the smell," said Alaqua, holding a broken set of wind-chimes, blown glass in shades of blue and green hanging from wrought iron. He watched as Beau's grandmother shuffled on into the parlor, setting the cracked chimes down on the stained coffee table. "You make yourself comfortable, darling, we'll be here for a while."

Edward parked himself on a cute, plush armchair in a pale purple, sinking down into a cloud of magic, and had he been human, he would've sneezed. She sat down across from him, knotted hands smoothing over the chimes.

"The tricky thing with glass, you know, it's so fragile." She tapped one shard, and it rang sweetly as a bell. "But when it's broken—" The edge sliced into her finger, and a bud of red bloomed and then spilled. It smelled like the house, metal and copper and sweet-edged fire. "It cuts deeply."

Edward could recognize a metaphor when it slapped him across the face.

She grinned at him. One of her canines had been replaced with gold, and it glinted when she smiled. "But glass isn't irreparable. It can always—" A hazel finger smudged blood over the glass, and the edges rippled, liquefied, glowed with heat, and then reformed, melding with its twin as she twisted the two pieces together. They smoothed and then cooled, hardened. "Mend. But only if heated to perfect temperature."

It wasn't the first time Edward had seen magic. A Roma woman in late 1960s Poland, an Irish witch in 1930s Brooklyn. Carlisle had told him of his experiences during the Salem tragedy, a shadow passing over his eyes whenever the incident was brought up. It was one of Carlisle's traditions to bring his newly turned children to the site to warn them of the dangers of humans, of what they could do to those they perceived as abnormal, bizarre, _inhuman_. And Edward had heard rumors about other sects in London and Scotland, but had never followed the rumors to their root, discouraged enough after what happened in Poland.

But Alaqua was of a different stock than those he had met before. Magic cloaked her, soaked her from skin to bone, and it layered her mind, and when he reached out to touch, it pushed him back, a gentle tap on his wrist, a soft but firm _no._

He had never seen such magic before, except, perhaps, in _Beau_.

His mouth dropped so quickly there was a click, and Alaqua laughed, delighted.

"So you've finally pieced it together, hmm," a throaty hum, and a flash of gold in her teeth. "Ah, Beau isn't a wolf, not the kind you feared he'd be, no." She reattached the newly fixed glass piece to its place in the iron, and the chimes clinked together again, as if greeting an old friend.

"He's—"

"Yes, magic. Like me." She grinned again. "It skipped Charlie, thank god."

"Oh, Christ," Edward said. "Does he know? Beau? About being—?"

"It's diluted in him. My blood is strong, but my husband, bless him, wasn't Quileute. And neither is Beau's mother." She sighed, smiling faintly. "Whatever gifts my grandson has, they aren't apparent in him yet, and neither will they be exactly like mine. The mixing of the blood—it hasn't been done, not willingly, in many years, and never with a child of Yut's children."

"Is that what you are?" asked Edward faintly. He gripped his purple armchair tightly. "A child of Yut?"

"We call ourselves _Pitichu Wisastsu'upat."_ The word splintered into the air like glass. "Moon Woman is the direct translation. Like the moon pushes and pulls the tides, we influence the nature of all things. We bring change, but we also bring balance."

"Woman?"

"Yut has never had a male heir before. Beau is the exception," she said, and glanced out the window, caked with dust. "I really should clean that."

Edward's teeth gritted. "I don't understand."

Her inky eyes looked at him, the window, and then she said, "Let me show you."

...

_Two months earlier._

....

_He shone in every mind, was the word on everyone's lips. Beau. The new boy. He was only a temporary disruption in the purgatory he called high school. It would only take a few days, a week at most, before the glimmer faded and the monotony of Forks resumed. But presently, the distraction lingered. Some of the poor girls of the school already fancied themselves in love with him._

_For the most part, Edward tried his hardest to ignore all of the thoughts and voices crowding up the hallways, tuning out the most private details of each person's thoughts, less out of courtesy and more out of self-preservation. To know the secrets of every hormonal teen in Forks High was a burden no one should bear._  

_At lunch, curiosity and boredom at last won out, and he focused his thoughts on the Swan kid, who sat nonchalantly on the other side of the lunchroom, with Jessica Stanley's little clique. They were gossiping, unsurprisingly knowing Jessica, about the "mysterious Cullens."_

_Edward listened in amusedly as Jessica gushed over his family, and elbowed Alice, whom was sat next to him. When he had her attention he nodded discreetly in the direction of Jessica's table, tapping his ear to indicate she use her super-hearing. She smiled, overhearing Jessica bumbling along and motioned to Rosalie, Jasper and Emmett to listen in as well._  

_"What?" Jessica mocked. "Is that all you can say?"_  

_"I'm confused," Beau frowned. "And kind of starstruck, actually, and I don't even... know who they are? Should I be swooning or something, 'cause hubba hubba. Can I say man-candy?"_

_If Edward had been a human, he would've turned the color of beets, he was so mortified. Emmett and Alice visibly struggled not to lose it, while Jasper and Rosalie closed their eyes in silent suffering. Edward's eyes shifted over to the daring human, sandwiched between mousy Angela Weber and dullish Michael Newton._

_Beau was short and thin, but not lanky. He was milk-white, cheeks pinked with embarrassment, dark curls spilling almost artfully against his forehead, inky eyes bracketed by chunky glasses. Edward could understand why the girls of Forks High were so easily endeared by him. He was endearing, and nonthreatening, different from the broadened American boys that roughhoused in the hallways and bruised their friends with their ungentle touch. His clumsy humor seemed to fit him, at least, making him an approachable boy, not cold or aloof. And to his own surprise, Edward found himself charmed, found himself listening intently for Beau's self-deprecating rejoinders._

_They were always unexpected and different, which surprised Edward, made him smile into his 'lunch'. But something was off. For most of his non-life Edward had been accustomed to hearing the thoughts spoken aloud echoed first, or edited first by a person's mind, even if he wasn't intentionally listening in on their thoughts. There was no surprise in what people said or their actions, every motion, every thought already illustrated to him milliseconds before a hand was outstretched or a word chosen._

_In Beau's case, all was silent. There was no whispers, no ever-present hum in the background, no flashes of images or wave of emotions vibrating around him. Just a miniature ocean of quiet. Edward probed deeper, searching for Beau, but snapped back to himself in shock when suddenly he felt a pulsing wall gently, but firmly pushing him back._

_"Alice."_

_Alice and Emmett were recovering from a laughing fit over something that Beau had said. Edward had missed it in his distraction._

_"Yeah?" Alice wheezed out._

_"I can't read his mind. The new boy. I can't read his mind."_

_Alice immediately sobered at the alarm in his eyes. "Edward look at me. Can you read me?"_

_He immediately closed his eyes and reached out for her. Pictures instantly familiar to him appeared: Carlisle in scrubs, greeting them at the hospital, the wind whipping icily through Alice's short hair as she raced Edward through the woods last Thursday, the surprised sound of Jasper's rare laugh, and he sighed in relief. "I can read you. I can still hear everyone else. Just not him."_

_Edward looked over at the boy._

_Something had changed. Where the air had been tepid and suffocating before, it was now buzzing with static. Anticipation bloomed in his chest, rippling down to his wrists and stretching into his fingers. As if the town itself could feel it, Forks was awake and in motion._

 

_..._

 

That was two months ago.

He was back in his own house, unscathed, unpunished, but for the new kernel of knowledge burrowed in the back of his skull, blooming with new consequences. He sat near the window looking out at the trees shifting with the breeze, sun splashing the sky in shades of gold and ember and bruising purple as it dipped down beneath the horizon towards La Push in the distance.

Alaqua had told him, with curling blossoms of sand and dust and magic, and when she was done, she fixed him with a look. An old look. "You have to make a choice, Edward," she said. "The distance that has grown between you two is your doing, not his."

"I was trying to protect him," he argued, but quieted at her soft, derisive laugh.

"Trying to protect him from what? You can't protect him from his own _nature_ , vampire," and she stood, gathering her shawl around her shoulders. "Whether you like it or not, Beau will learn what he is, and what you are. You can't stop it any more than you can stop your skin from shining in the sun."

Edward grimaced.

"Your intentions were good," she said, softening slightly towards him. "But you're not his father, Edward. You cannot make decisions for him anymore than he can make them for you. He has a right to know himself. This is his world as much as it is yours.  It's up to you whether or not you two can share that world."

Chastised, Edward had crept back into Forks, wolves trailing his steps, claws clacking against rock and root. Alice had tried to intercept him at the doorway, but he'd shaken his head and blurred into his room, conflicted.

Jasper complained— _what's his problem, I can feel his confusion halfway across the forest._

And Edward was confused, yes, but it went deeper than that. He was guilty, guiltier than before if that were possible, because everything he had done for Beau to protect him, it was unnecessary.

Alaqua was right. Beau would know what Edward was, and he would hate him for it. He wondered whether it would be better to just tell Beau straight out what he was. Maybe Beau would hate him less then.

But no matter what happened, Edward had to make things right. Or at least try.

He needed to tell Beau the truth.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a disclaimer. All Native American mythology used in this fanfiction is fictionalized. While some of our myths are inspired by myths from the works of Stephanie Meyers, we are NOT a reputable source for Native American myths, and neither can we vouch for her accuracy either. We do not mean to offend anyone of Native heritage and if any reader of Native American ancestry has any suggestions for improving our representation or has an issue with the representation of Native American culture in this piece we encourage you to contact us, privately or in the comments. We did attempt to do research on real Quileute myths, but there was a surprising lack of myths to be found online and that which we did find did not suit the story we were writing. That said, if we did misrepresent any aspect gravely, we do apologize and will seek to correct any mistakes. We have nothing but respect for other cultures, especially marginalized groups like indigenous peoples.
> 
> Chapter Title Song: Claire de Lune by Claude DeBussy


	11. Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler's bomb, Beau is pissed, and Edward is vewy, vewy sowwy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we would both like to apologize for the ridiculous wait, but are both pleased to tell you we have been working our little butts off. Please expect the 12th chapter to be uploaded within the 24 hours. As always, thank you lovelies for sticking around, and reviews are always appreciated.

The water steamed, thick and hot, and it made Beau's lungs too tight for comfort, the mist clogging up in the back of his throat. He ran his fingers through his bangs clumsily, lashes spiked from the water, blurring his vision. His glasses were lost in the pile of sweaty clothes he'd peeled off before jumping in the water.

He really didn't like gym all that much anymore—it'd been tolerable when they were allowed to run the track, but now that they were getting into actual physical education, it was just torture.

Coach Zepler was a general in Nike sandals. She had the boys playing tackle wrestling for some inexplicable reason in the basement, while the girls were all clustered up in the side-gym for volleyball and kickball. Lucky bastards.

Beau's back ached—he'd been pinned for what felt like over a dozen times, Mike's smug, sweaty face looming over him every five minutes.

"C'mon, Swan, put your back into it!" Zepler had hollered as his nose was smashed into yet another smelly gym mat. He could feel Mike's moist breath on his nape.

"Yeah, Swan," Mike had muttered. "Put your back into it."

Beau's reply had been an indignant yelp as somebody's hand connected with his ass.

Laughter broke out and Beau was seriously thinking about introducing Mike's nose to his fist when said asshole manhandled him up into a standing position as the half-way bell for the period rung out.

"Okay, ladies, hit the showers!" Zepler had blared.

Which was where Beau was currently glowering at the yellow tiles. He'd dawdled at the doorway until everybody else was out. As nice as the boys in his class were, they had limits and unfortunately, showering with a gay guy was one of them. Lucky he had a free period afterwards, so he didn't have to worry about being late for anything important.

The water was still hot, though, so he lingered, remembering instinctively that he had a free period after this one. He dipped his head underneath the spray so he could rinse off the sudsy shampoo, sighing as the water swirled white and foamy down the drain. The sharp, sour smell of sweat was slowly replaced with clean soap and notes of caramel, and Beau sighed, muscles forcibly relaxing underneath a pounding stream of hot water.

His shoulders stiffened inexplicably at a sudden rush of cold air over his flushed skin and he shivered, eyeing the entrance to the tiled showers suspiciously. _Did someone open the door, or what?_

"I'm getting too paranoid," he told himself, turning back to the faucet. Water slipped down his collarbones, dotting his stomach, but not even the thick steam could chase away the sickening feeling of eyes.

Eyes, on him. 

"Hey!" he called out. "Is anyone there?" Beau paused, ears straining. There wasn't... wait.

Slap of bare-soled feet against concrete. 

_Shit_.

He quickly shut off the water, unhooking his towel from the metal pin. He wrapped it up and around the curve of his bum before tiptoeing over to the lockers. 

His feet, slick with bathwater, nearly flew out from under him and he flailed before he managed to clap his hands to a locker, steadying his wobbly legs. He breathed before shaking his head, soaked bangs slapping against his cheek, still red from the lingering heat.

_What am I doing?_

He wiped a few drops off of his forehead and headed back to his locker. He bent over his clothes, toweling his bangs with his little towel before rubbing off his shoulders and under his arms. He slung it over his back, shimmying into his skinny jeans and converse before pulling on his V-neck.

There was a tap on his shoulder.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Beau whirled around, arm already lashing out, but luckily Tyler stopped it, expression shocked, Beau's wrist held tightly in his fist before knuckles could smash into his nose.

"Dude!"

"Tyler, _Jesus H. Christ_ ," Beau's heart rattled in his chest, and his breath stuttered. "Don't do that!" 

Tyler just blinked at him for a moment, eyes wide. "Beau, are you all right? You're _shaking_ , man." 

Beau dropped his arms to his sides and glanced down. His fingertips raced with tremors, yeah, and he exhaled roughly. "Yeah, I'm ok, I just—I guess I've been a little on edge ever since Miller got out on Monday." He kept looking over his shoulder, prickles spidering down his spine and legs.  

"Oh, crap," said Tyler with feeling. "He's out?" 

"Yeah, he made bail and everything," Beau threw his backpack strap over his shoulder.

"I completely forgot about that. How are you feeling?"

"Not very good," said Beau, testier than he'd meant to. "Sorry. I'm just—"

"No, I totally get it!" Tyler swiped his forehead clean of sweat with his forearm, sheepish. He was very handsome, Beau realized vaguely, all lanky arms and broad shoulders and clean, mahogany skin. "You wanna skip? Take the day off?"

Beau thought about it for maybe a second, then shook his head. "I can't hide for the rest of my life. I'll deal with it, don't worry."

That feeling, wet ice shifting in the bottom of his belly, anxiety prickling over his scalp, never really went away. Beau knew he was lucky. He was cisgender, he was white-passing (if not mostly white), he was male. Compared to others he knew in the community, he was relatively safe. But that fear, that feeling he had felt locked away in that godforsaken closet, knowing Miller and his boys could come back and do whatever they wanted, it cloaked him. It covered his spine, leaked into his eyes, coated his mouth. He couldn't breathe without looking over his shoulder to make sure gay bashers weren't following him home. He couldn't buy a carton of milk without looking at his cashier suspiciously.

It was exhausting.

"He's not coming back, though?" Tyler had to jog next to Beau to keep up with his hurried pace. They swerved into the main building where Beau's locker was. Where the attack had happened.

"He better not," Beau snorted, "He was expelled, if he even steps foot on school property my dad'll slam him with trespassing charges." They walked briskly down the hall, nodding at one of the hall monitors who eyed them suspiciously.

"Morning, Martha!"

She sniffed, pushing up her boxy glasses. "Make it quick, boys." Her heels tapped loudly on the linoleum.

Beau's locker clicked, swung open. "It's been kind of shitty lately."

"Jacob still avoiding you?" Tyler frowned heavily.

Ever since falling sick at the La Push Bonfire, Jacob hadn't been returning any of Beau's texts. Or calls. Even Charlie's calls to the house were being redirected. Billy had swung by a few days back to apologize.

"It's just a phase," he'd said solemnly, dark eyes glittering. Somehow, Beau didn't believe him. But still, they'd sat silently through two helpings of lasagna and some lemon cake for dessert, tension snapping loudly over their chewing.

"Take care," Beau had said, concerned, as Charlie gave Billy a lift back to the Reservation. "Tell Jacob I'm here if he needs me." He still remembered the few months after Mrs. Black's death, Jacob's quietness, his anger. Beau would damned if that Jacob had a resurrection. He did plan on giving Jake some space, though, but if this kept up for too long, Taka Ahi himself wouldn’t be able to keep Beau from invading La Push.

"Yeah," Beau answered presently, "Still avoiding me." He almost didn't notice the large sunflower shoved between his Trig and US History books, but when Tyler pointed it out, his jaw nearly dropped. 

It was huge and pretty and bright yellow, sweet-smelling, and when Beau picked it up, the stem was at least a ruler length long. 

"Third one today, nice," said Tyler innocently, and a vein in Beau’s head spasmed. 

It hadn't just been the sunflower. There'd been a small bundle of bluebells sitting nice and pretty on his cafeteria seat. A purple hyacinth had been taped to his desk in Trig, to Mr. Varner's sniffy disapproval. And now a sunflower, bright and cheery in Beau's face, bobbing its head with the weight of its petals. 

"Where'd you put the others?" 

Beau slammed the locker door shut, flower still in hand. "My bag, where else?" 

Tyler frowned as they made their way down the hall. "Won't they get crushed?" 

Beau shrugged. "Probably." They were fast approaching the library now. "I don't really care." He knew who was giving him flowers, he wasn't an idiot. If Edward wanted to talk, flowers would get him nowhere. He'd seen him in the halls, pale and shrunken, strange for Edward Cullen, one of the most confident, secure people Beau had ever met. He'd seen the guy's face in the cafeteria, when he'd found the bluebells. Beau had made eye contact for two seconds, but then had looked away, face blank. He'd put the bluebells on the table, and ignored them for the rest of the period. 

If he'd thrown them out, that was anger. If he'd given them away, that was heartbreak. If he'd put them in his bag, that was... he didn't know, but it was a _response,_ it signified something. 

But he just ignored them. He refused to play this little game, whatever the hell it was. If Edward was embarrassed by Beau's interest in him, then why send him flowers? Beau didn't care. He was done with his bull. 

Beau wanted nothing to do with homophobic, asshole, mute Edward Cullen. 

...

Beau should've expected this when Edward failed to do anything in Bio. 

This time it was a whole bouquet of daisies—motherfucking _daisies_ , that _jackass_ —and it wasn't taped to his door or on his welcome mat. It was in a very nervous, shuffly Edward Cullen's hands. A nervous, shuffly Edward Cullen who was currently standing on his lawn. 

Beau had just about had enough. He didn't care about how nervy Edward looked, how terrified. The only thing he could think about was Joshua Sugar. 

Beau had been in eighth grade, middle school in the middle of Phoenix, Arizona, in an overpopulated city school full to the brim with bullies and homophobes just as scary, if not more so, than Miller. And he'd had his first crush that same year. 

Joshua Sugar was a tall, lanky kid with blond curls and braces and a habit of getting into fights. He usually wore some sort of comic memorabilia somewhere on his body, and his favorite color was bright, bloody red. He had eyes like the sky, and a smile brighter than the stars. 

And when Beau had leaned in at a sleepover at his house, lips pursed, hands shaking, Joshua Sugar had punched him in the face. 

His chin had bloomed darkly for two weeks afterward, purple berries smashed in his skin that faded into rotted banana and green moss as he healed. 

Beau was done with Joshua Sugars and Edward Cullens. He was done with trying friendship with straight boys, falling for them, and getting smacked in the face for his efforts. 

He pulled up calmly at first. He parked methodically, took his time, put it in park, sucked in a breath. It was only when his feet touched concrete that his composure broke, fractured into millions of itty bitty pieces in his chest. He _slammed_ Jean's door closed, strode forward like he was about to murder a bitch, hands fisted at his sides, mouth clenched, and aimed a glared at Edward Cullen’s pretty, pretty face. 

Beau felt himself watching the next events in slow motion from somewhere outside of his own body. He watched himself stalk up to Edward, seething, as Edward's plaintive expression slowly morphed into something closer to actual fear. He saw from a distance as Edward moved instinctively to cover his groin with the bouquet of flowers that he held with one hand, while simultaneously throwing the other hand out in front of him. 

"Wait!"

Beau felt himself stop. Edward's mouth dropped open, like he was about to speak, but Beau put his hand up, mirroring. "No, you wait. You wait and listen to what I have to say. I think I deserve at least that much." 

Edward closed his mouth, his eyes flickering to the floor. 

Beau closed his eyes and let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, feeling himself slowly begin to come back to the present. "I don't know where you went, why or even if it had anything to do with me. I do know that you left me hanging. Complete radio silence. And I know that for some reason you're here today, and you wouldn't be unless you thought for some reason that you deserved a second chance. So fine, explain yourself. But do not think for _one second_ that I am not fucking furious with you, or that I forgive you."

Edward looked immediately chastised, his shoulders slumping, eyes locked solidly on the floor. Even the flowers he held somehow seemed wilted.

Beau raised an eyebrow at him when he finally met his gaze. He had cooled off considerably, but puppy dog eyes weren't going to work on him just yet.

"Do you—do you remember when I was trying to tell you something? On that bench at school?" Edward spoke softly, as if afraid of spooking Beau. 

Beau inclined his head. "You mean the day you rejected me and then proceeded not to talk to me for two weeks?" 

Edward, wincing slightly, shook his head, before saying blandly, "Yes. That day." 

"I happen to remember that day well, yeah." Sarcasm might’ve been cruel, but it was Beau's favorite coping mechanism when it came to confrontation. 

"I—I was trying to tell you something. Something that I shouldn't have kept from you." Beau's eyes narrowed. Edward continued regardless, stepping closer as he did. "I thought I was protecting you, by staying away from you. I realize now that I was only hurting you. But Beau... I never wanted you to be a part of the world that I am. I never wanted you to fear me, and should you know the truth about me, about the monster I am..." He looked up from under his eyelashes, suddenly uncertain. 

Beau didn't understand a word of what Edward was saying. He stood quiet for a moment, letting those ring around the room, before he said, bluntly, "Edward, do you know what it means to be gay?" 

Startled, Edward didn't answer. 

"I'm assuming you don't know what it means to be _gay and open_ ," Beau was so pissed his eyes were welling up. His throat was closing up, _fuck._ "It means that everything you do, with everyone you interact with, you're questioning. You're wondering, in the back of your skull, whether or not this person you're talking to secretly is disgusted by you and every word you say. You're wondering whether or not your friends are congratulating themselves on being friends with a freak, a pervert." He stepped closer. Edward backed up. "And when you have a crush..." He laughed harshly, deep in his throat. "Fucking _forget it._ Because if you confess, do you know what could happen?" 

Edward swallowed audibly. 

"You could end up in a dumpster, stripped, cut open, dead," he spat. "Or tied up in the desert, skull cracked open from tire irons." He sniffed, those tears spilling, _double fuck._ "Or that friend, that you like so much? Yeah, he never speaks to you again. He ignores you like you're a piece of shit on the bottom of his shoe. Or he tells people. 'I tried being friends with him, but he's obsessed with me'. Or he says 'he jumped me, he tried to rape me'." He swiped his nose clean with his shirt sleeve. 

"Which one did you do, Ed?" 

Edward surged forward, crushing him to his chest even as Beau fought against him, banging his fists uselessly against Edward's stone chest. To his own embarrassment, he felt a sob wrench itself from his throat. He gave up trying to escape and threw his arms around Edward's neck, overwhelmed, lungs burning. It took a surprisingly long time to realize that the trembling he felt wasn't his own. He looked up to see tears silently tracking a path from Edward's golden eyes to his strong jaw. Beau hiccupped and hid his face in Edward's shoulder, exhaling shakily when he Edward slowly lowered them to kneel on the grassy lawn, his arms wrapped solidly around his shoulders.

"How could I judge you, Ed?" Beau sobbed. "How could I judge you, when I was paralyzed at the thought that I would lose you just for being who I am?"

Edward tilted his chin up with a gentle hand, and they looked into each other's watery eyes. Beau couldn't help but irrationally think beautiful the glint the tears caught in the afternoon sunlight.

"I—I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for being so selfish. I should have known... I..."

Beau hushed him, nose blocked and runny, cheeks blotchy with tears. "How could you have known, anyways," he mumbled, "You can't read my mind. I told you and I just... freaked when you ran." He dropped his head down on Edward's barrel chest, felt the lungs expand and fall slowly. He felt Edward press his lips to his curls, unsure whether that was a kiss or just a nuzzle.

"Are... are we going to be okay?" In their entire friendship, Beau had never heard Edward sound as unsure as he did then. Not when they first met, not in the cemetery, not even in his apology.

Beau pulled away. It felt like ripping out somebody else's heart. He pushed away Edward's hands as they reached for him again, fingers grasping desperately. "Can you tell me why?" he asked instead of answering.

Edward looked like he'd been slapped.

"Was it your parents?" Beau prodded. "Did they not approve of—?"

"No! No, it wasn't them," blurted Edward, raising his arms, still trying to pull Beau back.

Beau stood up instead of embracing him. "Was it Rosalie? Was it your friends?"

"I already told you," he said softly, "I thought I was protecting you."

"From what?" he burst out roughly, agonized, frustrated. "From who? From—this double-talk isn't helping me."

Edward stared, helpless. "You have to trust me, Beau."

"But I can't, don't you understand that?" The anger was back, but the sadness was gone. "I _am physically unable to trust you._ The misunderstanding that happened, happened because you _ran away._ You said nothing. You ignored me. Why would I take you back as a friend if you won't even tell me why?"

Edward's mouth trembled, still on his knees, staring up at Beau, eyes blown wide.

"I can't," Beau glanced away.

Edward took a moment to compose himself and inhaled deeply. "I understand. I hurt you. You can't forgive me, not like this. I need to give you a proper explanation. And I will." He paused and looked at Beau, who was hugging himself protectively. "But not today. I don't know if I can do this today."

Beau looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed, but he gave a quick nod. He still needed to think over what had happened today.

"Will you meet me? If not tomorrow, then soon? When you're ready, will you let me explain myself to you?"

"It's not a matter of me letting you," Beau said, moving to his door. "It's whether or not you'll let yourself." He looked tired all of sudden, shoulders collapsing. "I'll see you, Edward. When you're ready."

...

As Beau left for school the next day he noticed the bouquet of daisies, sitting on the porch step.

He stopped in his tracks for a split-second.

Beau bent his knees slowly and touched a single white petal. _Daisies._ He remembered bringing a boy to a cemetery once, a single pale daisy placed on a grave. _The bastard remembered._ Before he could think about it too hard, Beau snatched up the flowers and brought then inside to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter.

...

Edward lay on his bed, unable to sleep, the curse of being immortal. He fretted about his confrontation with Beau. He felt his eyes well for the second time that day, hot tears clumping his eyelashes, blocking his nose.

His eyes shot open, the ceiling a swirl of black and white as he sat up, in shock. 

His _tearing eyes shot open._

_Edward hadn't cried a tear in nearly a century._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word by Sir Elton John.


	12. Suis-Moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau's still pissed, Jacob's sulking, and Sam's a bitch (in more ways than one).

 After the doorbell rang out for the fourth time without a response, Beau figured his grandma probably wasn't home. He checked the sides of the house, wandering around to the small potted garden of herbs she kept by the side entrance. He dared not venture into the backyard. It was too close to the ocean cliffs for his comfort. He'd always had a vague queasiness when it came to heights.

Instead, he wandered off towards the path that lead into the woods that would bring him to his grandmother's smoke hut, where she and the other elders of the clan liked to have a cigarette in privacy, where their children wouldn't call them out on their hypocrisy. He almost tripped over a couple of roots growing over the winding dirt trail, and wondered how his 67 year old grandmother always made the walk so gracefully.

Upon approaching the small cottage, Beau realized that his grandmother definitely had company. Distorted voices drifted over the soft breeze. The overcast sky made spotting the smoke plumes rising from the open chimney a bit difficult without squinting, but he picked out the familiar herbal scent of one of Alaqua's fires easily.

He was here for a reason. After Edward's unexpected apology that Thursday, Beau was even more determined to see Jacob. He was so confused over the situation with Edward, and without Jacob to talk to, he felt lost. He was adamant that he wouldn't lose both of his closest friends. So he threw an overnight bag into the back of his truck that Saturday morning and headed out to La Push to see Alaqua. 

If anyone knew what was up with Jacob, it was his grandmother. It seemed she always had her nose in everyone's business. Hell she could probably tell him what was up with Edward.

Beau shook his head resentfully. Now was not the time to think about Edward. He was here for Jacob. _One thing at a time Beau, or you'll make yourself crazier than you already are._

The wind chimes hanging on the cottage porch rang out as he stepped up the creaking front steps. The soft voices emanating from inside paused as he knocked, and the door swung open. Beau caught a glimpse of some of the tribal men sitting around the fire in the center of the room. A thick wall of heat smacked him in the face, smelling of nicotine and spices.

"Beau? You didn't call to tell me you were coming!" His grandma picked up her glasses from where they hung on a chain around her neck. She placed them precariously on the tip of her nose, precarious because one of the rubber feet that balanced the lenses on her face was missing. It had been since before Beau could remember. Usually a sensible lady, Alaqua refused to get a new pair. She couldn't stand the long ride to the eye doctor's office in Olympia.

"I need to talk to you about Jacob." Beau didn't feel like beating around the bush. He'd had enough of playing games.

His grandmother's lips tilted up at the sides in acknowledgment before glancing behind her. "We're having a council meeting at the moment." Alaqua pursed her lips. "You'll have to wait out here for a bit I'm afraid."

Harry Clearwater took that moment to amble up behind her, a genial smile gracing his lips. "Beau, my boy." The crow-feet around his eyes deepened happily as he shook Beau's hand vigorously. "I've been looking to talk to you for a while now!"

Beau smiled, bemused. "Well, I'm here now."

"That you are!" Harry agreed jovially. "Alaqua, I need some fresh air. Why don't you go inside and finish up while I sit outside with your grandson for a bit?"

Alaqua nodded, looking both relieved and exasperated. "Take your time, boys. Beau, don't go getting Harry into any trouble. And make sure he doesn't sneak any of that beef jerky he likes to buy when Sue isn't looking."

Harry scoffed. "If the secondhand smoke doesn't kill me, I doubt the jerky will."

Alaqua's eyes narrowed, and she shook her finger at him before disappearing into the nicotine-stinking hut, skirts sweeping the floor, screen door banging shut behind her.

Harry turned and smiled at Beau once they settled on the creaking porch swing, a rusted old thing Alaqua had gotten at a yard sale back in the late '90s. Beau had always liked Harry. He was a nice, friendly-looking man with a kind face, but he had dark eyes, wary eyes. Though Beau had never really been close with him despite being friends with Leah and Seth, his children, he'd always thought Harry to be a good dad. Charlie had grown up knowing him, after all. They still shared a beer every other weekend or so, chatting about work, and went on fishing trips during the long, heat-swamped summers.

"It still surprises me, you know," Harry Clearwater said suddenly, "How fast time's passed. I swear, yesterday you, Leah and Jacob were splashing in the shore, gettin' into all kinds of trouble." The night creaked.

Beau smiled faintly. "I remember." His sneaker-toe scuffed the wood boards of the porch. "Lots of things have changed."

"Well, you aren't that much taller than you were then," Harry said teasingly, dodging Beau's playful punch. "You didn't know about the meeting tonight," Harry said, and even though it wasn't a question, Beau still nodded. "But a couple of us were wondering when you'd show up."

Beau smiled, confused. "What d'you mean?"

"We're all very proud of you, of course," continued Harry, confusing Beau further. "We're glad to see you coming around more often, picking up responsibilities we weren't sure you'd be able to handle." He glanced around, checking they were really alone, before leaning in real close, saying lowly, "We were a bit concerned that you'd never really accept your heritage. You always seemed more comfortable in Forks than in the Rez."

Beau said nothing, unsure how to respond.

"You'll have a role in this tribe, if your grandmother has anything to say about it. A destiny, she says, something she'll hand down to you soon enough, just as I'll hand down my own piece to Seth one day." Beau raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt Harry's ramblings. "Anyways, we're glad you're here for it. You couldn't well learn the ways of the Quileute all the way out in Arizona, could you?"

"I guess not." Beau agreed, amused.

"I'm glad that you're here for Jacob as well. That boy, my daughter and you were always thick as thieves." He smiled wistfully, dark eyes lost in memory. "You three used to make such a ruckus. I hope that you'll be close once again. It's been a hard time for her you know? What with what happened with Sam and all..."

"Yeah, I heard." Beau had heard from Jacob about Leah's boyfriend. If he had any respect for Sam Uley before, it had vanished once he'd heard about how he'd broken her heart and left her for her cousin, Emily, who had been more like her best friend. 

"Well, it seems that Leah's been needing some new friends for a while now. Ever since the break-up it seems she's only talked to Jacob." Harry's brows pinched together with the deep concern only a parent could muster.

"And now Jacob isn't talking to anyone." Beau finished for him with a frustrated huff.

Harry side-eyed him and grunted. They sat quietly for a few minutes before Harry changed the subject.

"We ought to go on a fishing trip soon. The chinook salmon will be jumping about now, if your dad is willing to take a trip down to the Columbia, but if not we can just head up to the lake up north. We can bring everybody—the kids and Sue haven't been off Rez in a while, and I'm sure Billy and Jake would love to come along. We can get everything together by next weekend." he smiled brightly at Beau. He could hear the soft chirrups of grasshoppers and the flutter of bird wings in the distance. It felt like any other Thursday, but it wasn't.

Beau smiled back tightly. He wasn't so sure that Jacob could be persuaded but he nodded along anyways. "I'll tell my dad to call you."

"It'll surely get Sue off my back about my blood pressure for a week if all we have to eat is fish and rice." He winked at Beau conspiratorially.

Harry smiled to himself and folded his arms in front of him to protect him from the chilly sea breeze blowing in from the west. Beau sat quietly, thinking over what had been said.

"About what you said, that I have... responsibilities, a 'destiny' to fulfill, what does that exactly, uh, mean?" Beau squinted at Harry in the half-light of the overcast sky, shadowed by the porch's overhang and the tall conifers that surrounded them. His thick brows were usually very expressive and friendly, but for the first time Beau seemed to notice a heavy weight to them. Age changed people.

Harry was silent for a moment, contemplating the swaying branches of the large pine that guarded the cottage. "Tell you what. They ought to have nearly finished up in there. Why don't we go in for a mo'? I'm sure Bill will be up for some storytelling." With that he heaved himself off of the swing and swung inside.

Beau huffed. It seemed like straightforwardness wasn't really a prized virtue in this town. All the same he followed, although at a less enthusiastic pace.

... 

"You need to talk to him, Beau."

"Like I didn't try that already." Beau harrumphed. Seriously, he'd been counting on Alaqua having actually _helpful_  advice.

"You have to know what's going on with him," Beau continued. "Leah is just so angry about everything. She refuses to pick up when I call, and I was just talking to her dad. He says she hasn't talked to Jake either. If anyone knows what's going on it's you."

The tribe elders, among them Harry, Billy and Quil's father, had just vacated Alaqua's tent. Billy had told a story about the hero Yut's daughter and how she had taken away the gift of the wolf spirit from one of Taki Ahi's children when he proved unworthy of it. Beau had only been half-listening, distracted by thoughts of Jacob.

Alaqua was sweeping up the remaining ashes from the extinguished fire.

"I do in fact know what's going on." She didn't look up from her task, her voice seemingly unperturbed. Beau waited, but she didn't offer anything else besides a raised eyebrow.

"Why does everything have to be such a _mystery_  in this town? Is being unnecessarily dramatic a new fashion trend no one filled me in on? Harry Clearwater just told me I have a _destiny._ What is that all about?" Beau had never once shouted at his grandma. But he couldn't help his pitch from rising, incredulous.

"All in time, Beau."

Beau deflated. "This was a waste of time."

"I agree. Now go find Jacob. He's at home, sulking if Billy Black can be believed." 

...

"Don't be an idiot, Jake, I can hear your heavy breathing," Beau snapped loudly. "Stop fucking avoiding me, I've had enough of that from Edward. Speaking of Edward, boy, do I have crap to tell you about him."

Jacob refused to rise to the bait. Jacob loved talking crap about Edward. Beau slumped sideways on Jacob's bedroom door, sighing loudly and dramatically when there was no answer other than a barely audible huff. It was really easy to tell when there was something wrong with Jacob. There was no disgusting pile of unwashed laundry sitting outside his door. The fridge was practically empty. Jacob did two things when upset: he cleaned and he ate.

"I want to talk to you, Jacob," Beau admitted tiredly. He was so done. Edward stressed him out beyond belief, and now this little hissy-fit Jake was throwing wasn't helping. He could feel a headache beginning to pound at the base of his skull. "Please, just talk to me. At least let me know you're not dying in there."

"Just go away, Beau," was said finally. "I don't have anything to say."

"You do, you're just being a constipated butthead about it," Beau retorted, straightening up and crossing his arms. He felt like an idiot, talking to a door. "What is it?"

The door cracked open, a slow creak and then a thud as the knob knocked against the wall. Beau stared as Jacob stepped into the hallway.

Jacob had shaved. The thick, messy mane that had fallen to his shoulders, that had plastered his jaw and cheeks when wet, that curled wildly with humidity, was gone. Beau's fingers shook as he remembered that evening when he fell sick. They'd been sitting in front of the bonfire, and then Jacob had gestured at Embry and Sam Uley. Embry's hair was cut short, his eyes dark with secrets.

It wasn't just the hair, as shocking as Jacob's groomed scalp was. He was bigger too. His shoulders broader than before, he was thick with hard, heavy muscle. He had a barrel chest, the type you'd seen on swimsuit models, not teenage boys. His old Metallica t-shirt strained at the edges, the seams creaking, and Beau leapt to the worst conclusions.

Beau's stomach iced over and he breathed sharply through his nose. "So it's Sam Uley then?" he said sharply. "Is that it?"

Jacob's jaw, easily seen with the absence of hair, tightened hard. He didn't answer.

"What the fuck is this, Jacob?" Beau burst out, uncaring of how nagging or whiny he sounded. He didn't care anymore. All he could see was his friend, a friend he couldn't recognize because he'd shaved his head and somehow put on ten pounds of muscle in a week. "What? Are you in the La Push mafia now? Are you pushing steroids?" He flicked Jacob's bulgy bicep with his index finger.

"No!" Jacob said, alarm leaping to his face. "No, nothing like that!"

"Then explain this to me: how in the ever loving hell did you put on this much weight and muscle in the last week, Jake? Because it sure as hell looks like drugs to me, buddy."

Jacob shrugged, a smooth kind of movement that would've been awkward five days ago. But now it was graceful, it was elegant, and it freaked Beau the hell out. "Growth spurt?" Jacob offered.

"Do you smell that?" Beau said. "Smells like bullshit."

"What do you want me to say, Beau?" Jacob said, raking his fingers over his scalp. A leftover habit from the days when he had _hair, holy shit._

"How about the truth?" Beau prompted. "Can you just talk to me without lying for five minutes?"

Jacob looked him in the eye, apologetic and regretful, and said through gritted teeth: "No."

"What?"

"No, I physically cannot tell you the truth, Beau," Jacob admitted, painfully. "I'm—I'm not allowed." At this point in the conversation, Jacob turned and headed back into his room, and Beau's feet followed, an automatic reaction.

"You're not allowed to?" he said, teeth snapping so loudly after every word that Jacob winced. "Who's not allowing you, Jake?"

Jacob scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable, embarrassed.

"It's Sam Uley, right?" Beau pressed, venom curling under his tongue. "And now you're gonna tell me, Quil and Leah we can't hang out anymore, right? That's how this is gonna go down?"

"Yes," Jacob admitted, neck shrinking into his huge shoulders.

"I knew it!" Beau yelled, throwing up his arms, exasperated, angry as fuck. "Where's Sam."

Jacob's eyes blew wide open.

"Jacob Black, don't play with me," Beau loomed, steaming. "Where. Is. Sam?"

Jacob swallowed, heavily.

...

It was well known that Sam and his friends liked the lurk at the cliffs, daring each other to take a dive into the deeper water of the small cove north of his grandma's house. Beau and Jacob had always made fun of their little testosterone-driven competitions. Beau could already see a small gaggle of them, their wet, half-naked bodies gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Ostensibly, Jacob was tagging along to make sure Beau didn't commit a felony, but Beau wasn't blind. He could see the smirk teasing the corner of Jacob's mouth as Beau stomped his way towards the cliffsides. 

"At least try and have some decency," Beau growled low in his throat, but Jacob only smirked wider. "You manipulative little—"

Beau was rudely interrupted in the form of a half-naked Sam Uley striding up to them and glaring. Sam was a mean, two-timing fucker, Beau already knew this. He looked real sweet when he was smiling, but he was at least two heads taller than Beau and filled up a door effortlessly with the thickness of his shoulders. He could easily break Beau's neck without thinking twice, but he didn't have the anger steaming in Beau's belly, boiling up his blood.

"You bitch," Beau said eloquently as soon as Sam got close enough.

Sam looked from Beau to Jacob, and then arched an eyebrow. "Pissed off your little girlfriend, Black?"

"Oh, so you're misogynistic as well as an asshole, good to know," Beau spat, stepping close so Sam's eyes were forced back onto him.

Sam's lip curled high. "What'd I do to you, Swan?" He gathered himself, straightened his back so he was a good six inches taller, glowering down at Beau with the whole force of his height and weight.

"You know, me and you never really had a personal issue, _Uley,_ " Beau growled, jabbing a finger hard into Sam's unfairly large pec. _Ew, he was sweaty, fuck, gross._ "We never really talked or whatever, but here's the thing. You've been messing with my friends _._ So, you know, I just thought I'd drop by to tell you to _fuck off._ "

Beau wasn't a big guy. He wasn't, he'd accepted that. He was little, his height negligible, his weight even more so. When people saw Beau coming, angry-eyed and low-browed, they laughed. They thought it was hilarious that a little shrimp even dared to think he could take them on. But then he opened his mouth and. Well. Beau hit hard, but it wasn't with his fists.

"Jacob, get your friend out of here before I decide to end this myself," Sam said stiffly, controlled, but Jacob didn't look worried in the least.

"Don't look at him," Beau said loudly, and the boys in the background stopped and stared. "Don't look at him, don't talk to him, don't even breathe around him. It was enough when you couldn't control your dick and broke Leah's heart. But now you're threatening my boy here. Got him to shave his head and everything. Maybe even got him to swallow a couple roids."

Sam looked someone had come up to him, took his own hand, and slapped him in the face with it. "That's—that's not—"

"And don't give me bull," Beau hissed, anger warping his face. "I don't care what the hell is going on with you and your army of underage boys, Sam, but whatever it is, leave Jacob out of it."

Someone snickered softly in the background, probably Embry.

"Shut your mouth, Beau," Sam whispered, face flushing deep red in his fury.

Beau shook his head, smiling. "No, I don't think I will. Because I dunno if you know this, but you can't control people, Uley. Or at least you can't control Jacob. You can't tell him what to do or who to hang out with like he's some dog. He's not going to piss where you want him to. He's not just gonna stop seeing his friends because you're on some alpha man power-trip."

"Beau, I think that's enough," said Jacob, eyes flickering with alarm, but it was too late because Beau was on a roll.

"You're _pathetic,_ " he said, "All of you! What the hell is your problem?"

Finally, someone broke away from the group of boys clustered near the edge of the cliffs—fucking Paul Lahote. " _You're_ our problem, Swan," he said, growling, face twisted, and Beau rolled his eyes hard.

"Yeah, just me?" he scoffed. "Nah, I don't think it's _just_ me your little gang has an issue with." He suddenly glared at Embry, who hadn't said anything at all so far. "When was the last time you spoke to Quil, Call?"

Embry balked, eyes wide. "Who, me?"

"Yeah, you," Beau insisted.

"It's none of your business," Paul bucked up, about to take a step, but Sam threw out an arm across Paul's barrel chest, which heaved with rage.

"Ohohoho," Beau laughed, sarcasm dripping, "But it is. Because you guys made it my business when you told Jake he wasn't 'allowed' to talk to me anymore."

"Oh, come on," Paul huffed. "Get over yourself, Swan. He was gonna drop your fairy butt with or without us."

Beau slapped him, so hard Paul's thick, brutish neck snapped to the side with a loud crack, and Beau said, "Shut up, Lahote—"

He couldn't finish the sentence, because there was a sound. The most terrifying, electrifying noise Beau had ever heard in his life—it spoke to something deep in his skull, and the lizard brain of old seized control as a deep, guttural roar broke through the air and bounced around them, down the cliffs and off the waves.

Sam grabbed his shoulder and only just managed to pull Beau back before Paul _exploded._ Literally. Shreds of what used to be blue jeans fluttered around them, and Beau gave a yell.

The largest, meanest looking wolf with drooling jowls and a puffed, silver-stained coat stood before Beau, growled lowly at him. He was the size of a small horse, paws scratching irritably at the ground, shark-stone teeth gleaming white in a peeled muzzle, and if Beau had been a lesser man, he might've pissed his pants. As it was, Beau still screamed softly when Jacob leapt forward, pushing Sam aside, and _melted,_ clothes ripping at the seams, into a larger, meaner wolf still.

"What tHE—" Beau's jaw went slack as the two titans slammed into each other, the thud of hard bone and snarling growls lighting the air on fire. Sam grabbed Beau's shoulder, yanked him away further, poised like the minute the creatures got too close he'd join the fray. Beau could barely see the wolves, they were going so fast, a blur of silver and russet fur, flashing claws, snapping fangs.

"What the fuck," said Beau, falling onto his bum in shock. "What the actual fuck."

His heart burned with fear, his lungs heaved, and he stared. It wasn't over quickly. Every so often, one of the creatures would pin the other, teeth locked over a straining neck, but the underling would always squirm away, and it would start all over again. It was like watching two monsters grapple, and Beau wondered with increasing terror if they would kill each other. He could hear the crunch of bone and loud thick screams of pain, and it was only when it began to escalate that Sam stepped up.

"ENOUGH!" he roared over the growls and snarls of the wolves— _Paul and Jacob???—_ and the air went still. It felt like even the wind froze at Sam's rage. Beau could hear his pulse throbbing in his eardrums.

And it was over.

And instead of two wolves slavering at the mouths, there were two naked boy-men scrambling away from each other in favor of jeans tossed at them by a smirking Jared Cameron. Their bare backs were spattered with sand and dirt and long, red scratches already closing up, so quickly that Beau blinked twice and they were gone. It was only Jacob's sheepish smile that let Beau know he wasn't going insane.

"I can explain," said Jacob, which prompted long-drawn groans from the rest of the boys.

"Of course Black gets to tell Swan, but I can't tell Andrew!" Jared complained loudly.

"He was gonna find out anyways," Sam shot back, though he also glared at Beau. "Though I didn't plan for it to happen so soon."

"Why him though?" Jared insisted, but Sam just looked at him sharpish, seemingly communicating something sternly. No one said anything for a few strained moments, but Jared backed down gruffly.

Paul stepped up to where Beau was still collapsed on the ground, disgruntled, his brow crunched.

"Sorry," he muttered at Beau softly, boring holes into his own bare toes. He glanced up for only a second before he turned away towards the trees, shoulders bunched up in embarrassment. Embry and Jared looked at each other and then the rest of them nervously, before following, shooting looks over their shoulders.

"Paul's the least controlled of us," Sam said once they were out of sight. "He's a bit sensitive about it."

Beau was too busy gaping at them to answer.

"The change affects us all differently," Sam said shortly, glancing at his group. "He was aggressive before it hit. Now, it's a struggle to even go through the day without attacking at least one of us."

"Beau, I'm sorry," said Jacob earnestly, "I had no idea this would happen. I just didn't know how else to tell you." He dropped onto his haunches next to Beau, who still panted with adrenaline, a faint roar in his ears.

"With your mouth?" Beau said, voice high. "'Hey Beau, I'm a werewolf, sorry, can't hang out this weekend'!"

"No, I mean it," Jacob admitted, crossing his legs underneath his butt. Even sitting, he towered over Beau, and Beau glared at the sky. "I physically was unable to tell you, Beau—Sam forbid it."

Sam cut Beau off before he was able to start screaming. "As alpha of the pack, my word's law. It goes beyond individual will. Jacob was never able to disobey."

"That's horrifying," Beau said, more disgusted by this revelation than the scene of horror that had only just occurred. "So you just tell them what to do, and they have to do it?"

Sam and Jacob looked at each other, and then at Beau, and then said, at the same time, "Yeah, pretty much."

"And you don't think that's at all fucked up?" Beau grimaced.

Sam quieted, the humor gone from his face, and Jacob glared at his hands. "Fucked up or not, that's the way we work," Sam said, trying to be dismissive about it. "That's how a pack works."

"So all those stories—about Taka Ahi and Yut and Utlapa—the animal spirits and the spirit world," said Beau, disbelieving, "They're all true."

Jacob shrugged, even as Sam nodded his head. Glaring, Jacob said, "Kind of. We dunno for sure. Taka Ahi and his tribe existed, yeah, and had the powers the legends said they did, but he's still a legend. We don’t know how much of it’s the truth and how much of it’s been exaggerated."

"Holy shit."

Suddenly, Beau realized something. "Wait, if werewolves are real, what about the Cold-Ones in the stories? Vampires. Are they real too?"

Sam looked even more uncomfortable, if that were even possible. "Technically, we're shapeshifters, not werewolves."

"But—"

"Yes, they exist." Jacob glared at Sam, aggravated.

"And my grandmother? The things the kids at school used to say about her? That she's a witch?"

"A medicine woman, technically." Sam shot a look back at Jacob, his mouth pursing into a permanent frown.

"What does that mean, though?" Beau's head was whirling. How had he not seen? How had he not known? Why had she not told him?

"Look Beau," Jacob was concerned. "I think this has been a bit shocking to you. Maybe we should go home."

"What? No!" Beau was just getting started. "I need to go see my grandmother. She has some explaining to do." He remembered their conversation from that morning with new eyes. Had she known he would find out all of this simply by visiting Jacob? She couldn't have known, could she? Either way, he felt lied to. His own grandmother, looking him in the eye, lying to his face. Not telling him anything.

"Does your father know about all this?" Beau realized it was a stupid question even as it left his lips. Jacob nodded. 

"My dad?" Beau suddenly went cold. Had his father been lying to him as well?

Jacob, to his relief, shook his head. "Technically, only wolves, their imprinted and tribe officials know about the pack. My sisters don't even know."

"But they don't live in La Push. Would they know if they moved back?"

Jacob pursed his lips. "Probably not." 

Beau was shocked. He hadn't seen Rebecca or Rachel since he came back, Rebecca having married and moved to Hawaii, Rachel having gone away to college. Yet the idea that Jacob would have to keep such a huge secret from them was... _well_.

"But they're your family."

Jacob looked away. Beau thought about having to keep such a secret from Charlie. He felt sick. 

"It's the way it has to be," Sam insisted, but Beau's rage, which had quieted in the face of shock and disbelief, came roaring back.

"No," he snapped. "It's the way _you want_ it to be. Where do you get off, controlling them like this? When you know they don't have a choice? If anyone's Jacob family, it's me. You've known him for two weeks, Uley. What gives you the right to rule his life?"

"I'm his Alph—"

"I don't give a fuck what you are, Uley. I really don't. Jacob's my friend. Not your bitch." He snorted, disgusted. "No one deserves to be separated from their family and friends just because you're afraid they might say something or do something to give away that game."

Sam stared at him silently, before shaking his head. "You don't understand," he said, like Beau hadn't even spoken.

"I don't have to," Beau said, refusing to back down. "I don't have to understand to know that taking away anyone's free will, whether you're their leader or not, is disgusting."

Sam's jaw clenched, and his eyes swept from Beau to Jacob and back. "You're not a wolf," but his voice wasn't as hard. "I—I think it's time you left, Swan." He glanced at Jacob like he was seeing him clearly for the first time. With that he turned and headed towards the woods, disappearing into the flickering shadows soaking in between the trees.

Beau stared after him, heart pounding, face still flushed with righteous anger. He felt off-center, like the world had suddenly twisted upside down without warning or notice. Like it'd become a world where boys who turned into wolves were normal.

He felt Jacob's hand touch his shoulder. 

"Thanks for standing up for me," Beau heard him say from a distance. "I don't think even my dad would've done that."

"Don't worry about it," Beau said faintly, still in shock.

Jacob easily turned him around, and Beau started, surprised at the strength and ease of the motion. Jacob, he realized, could probably pick him up and carry him to New York if he wanted to. They locked eyes, and Beau remembered this was Jacob, his friend, even if he could turn into a wolf. They were still friends.

"Earlier, you said something about Edward," said Jacob. "What did he do this time?"

Beau sighed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suis-Mois by Camille (Translation: “Follow Me”).


End file.
